From Durmstrang With Blood
by Argonaut57
Summary: An urgent request for SHIELD assistance comes from Sanctuary at the same time as the White Council requests help in the recovery of a dangerous 'item' stolen from Durmstrang School. Is there a link between these and a series of mysterious killings in Europe? Another case for the cross-world SHIELD team led by Draco Malfoy!
1. Chapter 1

**From Durmstrang With Blood**

 **Chapter One**

Draco Malfoy was spreading blackcurrant preserve onto warm brioche when his mobile phone emitted the warbling sound that indicated the arrival of a text message. He frowned as he set aside his food and took the phone out. Were it not necessary for his work, he would gladly have drop-kicked the irritating little device into the Thames. It wasn't that it was a muggle thing -his London home was filled with many non-magical devices, most of them worth their weight in Galleons – but this privacy-stripping little monstrosity offended every idea of courtesy and formality he had ever been raised with. Not to mention the abominations committed against grammar and spelling by so-called 'txt-tlk'!

He perused the screen, then looked up at his wife. "It's work, darling. I have to go in straight after breakfast. Bother!"

"Oh, poot!" Astoria responded, as mindful as her husband of the presence of their son at table. "I was hoping things would be quiet for a bit longer, but a text at breakfast means you'll be going on another trip?" This was their euphemism for field operations.

Ten-year-old Scorpius at least had the sense to swallow his mouthful before remarking dourly. "I don't know why you guys don't just swear like normal people."

Draco gave a rather exaggerated sigh. "Your mother and I refrain from bad language in your presence, my boy, in the admittedly slender hope that you will do us the same courtesy. What you do or say elsewhere is, of course, your own affair. Might I also point out that addressing your mother and I as 'you guys' falls rather below the standards expected of a Malfoy?"

"Consider me duly chastened, honoured parents." Scorpius deadpanned, earning a playful cuff on the side of the head.

"Astoria, I must pack." Draco told his wife. "I presume you can take care of preparing this monstrosity for school?"

"I think I can manage, darling." She replied with a grin.

"Then I shall see you both before I leave." Draco finished his brioche, downed his tea and left the room. As he went, he heard Scorpius saying:

"I don't see why I have to go to a muggle school. I mean, it's fun and that, but Auntie Daphne says that most wizard kids are taught at home."

"Well, darling," Astoria replied, "you'll be going to Hogwarts next September. You're going to meet a lot of Half-blood and New-blood children there. The home-schooled wizard kids won't know what the others are talking about sometimes, and they'll feel right Charlies! At least you'll be able to hold a proper conversation with anyone you meet, Scorpius!"

 _About video games and television programmes, no doubt!_ Draco thought. But Astoria and he had agreed on this course of action before Scorpius was born. The boy would almost certainly be Sorted into Slytherin, and though the ethos of Dracos' old House had undergone changes, there was still a long way to go. Astoria and Draco did not want their son to be trapped in the same closed social circles they had grown up in. There was a wider world out there, and they wanted Scorpius to make his own decisions based on knowledge rather than inbred prejudice.

As he packed, he also considered the words Astoria had used. The term 'New-blood' was quickly making its way into common usage, replacing 'muggle-born' as the standard term for wizards born into previously non-magical families. That well-intentioned busybody, Hermione Weasley, had badgered first the Ministry, then Hogwarts and finally the _Daily Prophet_ into using the term exclusively, arguing that, verbally at least, it placed muggle-borns at the same level as Pure- and Half-bloods.

Draco chuckled to himself. He had known Hermione as a girl, and while she was undoubtedly quite the most irritating person he had ever met, she did have some sterling qualities. Her determination was one of them, while her lack of normal diplomatic or 'people skills' was, if anything, rather endearing. At least Astoria thought so, and who was he to argue?

Having seen Scorpius off to school in the care of their muggle neighbour, Janine, who was doing the school run this week, Astoria and Draco went up to the unused back bedroom. This room held the Floo hearth and the family portkeys and had, in a rare unanimous adoption of muggle popular culture, been christened the Digital Conveyor Room. Draco picked up the SHIELD lanyard and security pass that doubled as his portkey to HQ, then turned to Astoria, who came close and put her arms round his neck.

"Here we go again!" She said.

"Indeed." He replied. "Another mission in the cause of peace, truth, justice and a not-inconsiderable salary!"

She laughed. "If you were really as cynical as you pretend to be..." She declared.

"You would never have married me!" He concluded. "But if we are to begin completing each others' sentences, after the fashion of the Weasleys, we may have to reconsider our position."

She giggled again, then kissed him thoroughly. "Take care, man of mine!" She commanded when they surfaced again. "Give my love to the others, and tell Rhodey that if he doesn't bring you back in one piece, I'll have his guts for garters!"

"And very fetching they would look!" He allowed. They kissed again, then she stepped back and Draco triggered the portkey.

Michael Morbius was used to his house-mates' irregular hours. What he wasn't used to was hearing him come home. For such a big man, Blade was uncannily silent in his movements, and even Morbius' vampire-keen hearing didn't usually detect him.

Which meant that whoever was in the lab should not be there, and that was worrying. The doors required biometric identification to open, either in or out, and every other possible entrance was protected by the most sophisticated alarms and defences SHIELD and the FBS could provide. The last person to successfully infiltrate this place had been the mutant Wolverine, on a tiger mission, and even Director Rogers had admitted that there was no way to keep the Canadian out of anywhere he wanted to go!

All of which gave the man known as the Living Vampire pause. Someone here had, potentially at least, abilities equal to Wolverines', and Morbius still had painful memories of his only hostile encounter with the feral mutant. The easiest option would be to run out into the street. The electronic tag Morbius wore at his own insistence would immediately trigger the arrival of a full SHIELD Strike Team and a SCAT Auror squad. Of course, he might not have time to explain matters before they took him down. Better to be sure, first.

The door to the lab was ajar, and there was only the light of the computer screen. Well, Blade no more needed light to work by than Morbius did. He slipped inside. The figure hunched over his computer gave no sign of having heard him. Morbius' nostrils flared, then his red eyes glowed.

Whoever it was had done a first-class job, he had to admit. The figure looked, from the back, exactly like Blade. But Blade would have heard him enter, and it was not Blades' scent. Morbius deliberately made a small noise as he advanced to the centre of the lab.

The pseudo-Blade spun round in the chair and grinned at him.

"Hi, Michael." He said. "Didn't mean to disturb you. Just thought I'd catch up on a little work."

Morbius almost laughed. "You should have done your homework more completely." He said silkily. "Blade only uses a computer to play _World of WarCraft_ , and he uses the one in his own office, not the lab one. He only comes in here for treatments or tests – he hates the place. He never calls me Michael, either; usually it's 'Doc', or occasionally, 'Fangs'. He's also male, which you aren't. Vampire senses are more than adequate to discern that difference!"

The 'man' lunged at Morbius, fast, very fast. But not fast enough and the intruder was sent crashing into the far wall.

"Also," Morbius remarked. "I couldn't have done that to the real Blade."

The figure came up on one knee, blurring and shifting as it did so. A woman in black tactical gear, with long red hair, blue skin and yellow eyes.

"Mystique, formerly of the Brotherhood of Mutants." Morbius remarked. "I'd heard you were active again. That explains why you were able to get past the biometric security, of course. Sometimes instinct and knowledge counts for much more than technology.

"Now, what were you doing here?"

Mystique neither answered nor attacked. Instead, she flung herself into a backflip, shattering the window behind her with what must have been reinforced boots, and vanishing downwards. Morbius made for the window, but knew it was pointless. They were a storey above ground level, a nasty drop for a normal human, but nothing for a semi-feral mutant. By the time he had got there, she was long gone.

It was typical of Director Rogers, Draco thought as he entered the briefing room, that despite the fact that Antony Stark had developed a lightweight exoskeleton that allowed him to stand and walk normally, he continued to use a wheelchair. Until every paralysed veteran and disabled child in the US had access to the exoskeleton technology, Rogers refused to use it except in emergencies. In this, as in many other ways, the man once known as Captain America reminded Draco of his old nemesis and secret ally, Harry Potter.

He had arrived 'fashionably late', in that his team were already settling into their seats. He took a mental roll-call. Dracos' valued XO, James Rhodes, former USAF colonel, ace pilot of aircraft and the War Machine heavy assault armour, gave him a quick, slightly-relieved, grin. The lovely and lethal Auror-trained witch, Gabrielle Delacour, smiled at him, as did the other witch, the clever redhead Willow Rosenberg. Taciturn former Navy SEAL and ET, Agent Clark Kent, nodded briefly. His more garrulous comrade - engineer, pilot, inventor and weapons specialist Bruce Wayne - called "Hi, Boss!" Doug Ramsay, the mutant Cypher, waved, as did Medical Officer Dr Howser.

"Good day, everyone." Draco took his seat. "Director Rogers, given your presence, I presume our latest excursion is a little out of the ordinary?"

Rogers shook his head and grinned. "I went through a war fighting alongside the English, and I still don't get them!" He said. "Only an Englishman could use the word 'ordinary' to describe anything you've done since Joining SHIELD, Draco.

"But yes, this is an unusual situation. Over the last few months, this team has proved itself more than once in situations where magic and non-magical elements have been involved, so you're the first choice for this one.

"Now, there are three apparently separate incidents here, which SHIELD analysts and my gut tell me are linked.

"First, we've received an urgent call from Dr Helen Magnus at Sanctuary. She says that she and Nikola Tesla have important information for us, and they may also need our help. Now Dr Magnus is independent to the point of intransigence on most matters, so if she's approached us, it won't be about anything good or trivial.

"Second, the White Council has contacted us on behalf of the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic regarding the theft of 'an important and dangerous item' from Durmstrang School. Apparently the item concerned is as valuable and dangerous to muggles as it is to wizards, which is one of the reasons why they've asked for help. The other is that a student has disappeared, a young woman. She vanished about the time of the theft and so is the prime suspect. The problem is that she's a Latverian national. As you know, Latveria has no wizard school of its own, and wizards there don't answer to the White Council. As you also know, Dr Doom takes any harm to Latverians abroad very personally, and he doesn't always play by the rules. We need to act fast on this one.

"Finally, and I'm sure this is connected, we caught a flash from the Bulgarian police that they've found the body of a young woman by a roadside about five miles away from Durmstrang.

"Draco, I want you and your team to find out what, if anything, is going on, and to put a stop to it, if you have to.

"I won't tell you how to go about it, but keep me in the loop. Good luck."

Rogers left, Draco turned to his team. "It would seem necessary to move with some dispatch." He noted. "I will take it on trust that you are all mission-ready.

"Miss Rosenberg, Mlle Delacour, please proceed to the WAND section for transport to Durmstrang. I imagine they will be expecting you. Please gather all the information you can about what has been stolen, how, when, by whom if possible, and the potential repercussions.

"Rhodes, would you oblige me by taking the large aircraft to Bulgaria? Please land as close as possible to the site where the body was found, and proceed to investigate. Dr Howser will need to examine the body itself, and Ramsay will be able to smooth over any linguistic difficulties. You do speak Bulgarian, Ramsay?"

"Not yet, but I will!" Cypher replied.

"Quite so." Draco smiled quietly. "Finally, Agents Kent and Wayne, if you would be so good as to accompany me to Sanctuary in the Jumper? I could apparate, I suppose, but I would rather not venture into so unpredictable a scenario without reliable back-up.

"Shall we proceed, ladies and gentlemen?"

Rhodey, though American to the core, was more than a little pleased that the SHIELD SUVs were designed and built by the British Land-Rover company. They were rugged brutes, more than capable of handling rough mountain roads, but more importantly, they were stick-shift models with the rock-hard suspension, tight cornering and fierce acceleration typical of British cars. They'd made serious time on the drive from the Bulgarian military airfield, which was all to the good.

It was a typical autumn day in the mountains, and if the cold wind bit through clothes and gnawed at bones, it at least kept the sky and the sunlight clear. The scene was a kind of lay-by created by the clearance of a rockfall at the side of the road some years back. Now it was surrounded by the universal yellow and black tape. A group of uniformed officers stood nearby, clustered around a van which was apparently serving hot drinks. It was amusing to see them all snap to attention at the sight of the SHIELD logo on the vehicle door.

At the crime scene itself, a group of non-uniformed people were standing just outside the tape. One of them appeared to be operating a tablet computer which might or might not have had something to do with the camera-like device standing on a tripod close to the shrouded body and revolving and tilting rapidly to take in the entire area. As the SHIELD team got out of their vehicle, two of the figures came over to them.

The first was a middle-sized man, hair thinning but worn slightly long, with a hang-dog face, rather protuberant eyes that had seen everything, a down-turned mouth and lines of pain etched into his cheeks. The other was a tall woman with a wealth of red hair, a round, sensual face and piercing light blue eyes.

The man spoke first, in English with an American accent. "Hi, I'm Carl Hickman, with the ICC. This is Eva Vittoria. You must be the guys from SHIELD?"

Rhodey put out a hand. "Agent Rhodes." He said. "These are Agent Ramsay and Dr Howser."

Hickman looked at Rhodeys' hand for a second, then grasped it lightly with his left hand. The right, Rhodey noted, stayed in the mans' pocket.

"So," Vittoria said, "what is SHIELDs' interest in this case?" Her English was fluent, if accented.

"We're not sure we have one, as yet." Rhodey told her. "It may be linked to another case we have ongoing. Why is the International Criminal Court involved in this?"

"Two other cases, one in Oxford, England," Hickman told him, "the other in Stuttgart. Same MO, but so far, no links between the victims. Our squad works on cases that cross EU borders, so here we are. What happens if this case is linked to yours?"

"We do our job, and you do yours." Rhodey replied easily. "SHIELD isn't a police organisation, and while we got resources you don't, you have ones we don't. We work in parallel, and share information. That OK?"

"Sounds good, but I'll have to check with the boss." Hickman said. "He's in Stuttgart with another team member, following up on the killing there with the locals."

He took out his cellphone and moved away to make the call. Just then the other two men approached. The one holding the tablet -stocky, fair-haired with a square and oddly gentle face – announced. "The scans' done, it's processing now. What's Carl doing?"

"Checking something with the Major." Vittoria told him. "These are Agents Rhodes and Ramsay, and Dr Howser. They're with SHIELD."

"Oh!" The man looked at them with some surprise. "I'm Kommisar Sebastian Berger, Berlin Police, attached to the ICC."

"So the scanner is yours?" Ramsay asked excitedly. "I read your paper about it when it was still a prototype. You've got it working now?"

"Pretty much." Berger allowed. "Not as good as I'd like it to be, but I'm still working on it."

To Rhodeys' raised eyebrow, Cypher explained. "The device makes a complete spherical digital scan of a crime scene, picking up almost every trace of anything, then uses a series of advanced algorithms to reconstruct events. It can tell you where the killer and witnesses were standing, for instance."

"The hardware is virtually perfect." Berger noted. "But the software still needs improvement."

"Have you thought about incorporating AI?" Ramsay asked.

Berger looked at him narrowly. "Ramsay, isn't it? _Doug_ Ramsay? As in Cypher, the X-Man?"

"Former X-Man." Cypher told him. "But yeah, that's me. You've heard of me?"

"Anybody who knows anything about computers knows about Cypher!" Berger said. "The man whose firewalls are so good even the Wasp can't crack them!"

The rest of the conversation might as well have been in Ancient Greek for all anyone else understood of it. Rhodey turned to the final member of the ICC team, dark, wiry, sharp-featured with intense eyes. _A brawling alley-cat of a man_ , he thought, _dangerous by nature, lethal when trained and disciplined._

"And you are?" He asked, realising he was starting to sound like Draco.

"Detective Tommy McConnell, Police Service of Northern Ireland, also attached to the ICC." The man replied. "And to me, SHIELD are just more of the funny people, so don't expect me to trust you."

"I won't." Doug Howser said. "But you can give me a hand. I need to get a look at that body, and you can make sure I don't run off with any evidence!"

That at least made the Irishman grin, and he led the way under the tape to the body. At Howsers' request, McConnell uncovered the corpse. "IC1 female, between 16 and 20 years old, fair hair, no distinguishing." He said.

Doug nodded, a took out his scanner. The Stark-built device had been modified further by Bruce, and now he swept it slowly over the body. "This takes a complete image of the body, both internal and external." He told McConnell. "I can upload it to the computers in my lab, and do a virtual autopsy later. That means the locals get to do the official one, which they'll be pleased about, and I don't have to make a mess on the plane."

"You have a lab on your plane?" McConell asked.

"It's a big plane." Doug replied. "Got everything but a shopping mall!" As McConnell laughed, Doug examined the body _in situ_.

"The body is naked." He said into his scanner. "Lying face-down in a considerable pool of blood which has soaked into the gravel. Blood trace further away is in an arc in front of the body, indicating arterial spray. Victim is bound with standard plastic restraints, wrists behind the back, ankles together. Body temp is equal with ambient, indicating several hours since death.

"McConnell, help me turn her?"

They gently rolled the body over, both men grimaced and Doug began recording again.

"Victim has been gagged with tape. Rigor is in full, indicating ToD at between six and ten hours ago. Lividity in the breasts and stomach is marked, so the body has not been moved post-mortem. Probable cause of death is exsanguination due to sharp force trauma of the neck. A single deep and long cut transecting the arteries and windpipe.

"No external evidence of sexual assault. Note that victim was probably undressed, or forced to undress, before being restrained."

"How do you work that out?" McConnell asked.

Doug shrugged. "It's almost impossible to remove clothing from a restrained person without either tearing or cutting it. Tearing would leave traces of fabric under the restraints, cutting, well it can't be done without scratching or cutting the skin at several points. I know because I've had to do it myself, with unconscious patients."

There was, of course, the option of magic, but Doug wouldn't raise this unless McConnell did so, or Draco gave him clearance.

McConnell took a photo of the face with his phone. "Let's see if we can get an ID." He said. They replaced the body as they had found it, and covered it again. Then they went back to the others.

Everyone was clustered around Berger and his tablet.

"We have to assume there was some kind of vehicle." Berger was saying. "But this road surface, and the time involved, means we don't have any trace of it. She was carried to that spot. The gravel underfoot doesn't take much in the way of impressions, but enough for my scanner. She was put down, not dropped, then pulled into a kneeling position and killed from behind. All within the space of a few minutes."

"So she was already stripped and tied before she got here." Hickman remarked. "Why do that? Why not undress her here?"

"Somebody wanted the clothes undamaged and not bloodstained." Rhodey said.

"To undress someone, or make them undress, you need to have them in a controlled situation." Vittoria pointed out. "Preferably indoors, with nowhere to run. But sexually-motivated killers who take clothing as souvenirs usually only take one item. Panties, usually, now that most women wear tights – it used to be stockings."

"There's no apparent sexual assault." Doug told them. "Though somebody will need to do a rape kit, I don't want to tread on local toes by doing it myself.

"This may sound dumb, but is it possible the killer took the clothes so they could _wear_ them?"

Hickman and Rhodey shared a glance. "You may be onto something, Doug!" Rhodey remarked.

"It had better be something good!" Berger said, looking up from his tablet. "Tommy, that photo you took flagged up in Bulgarian Immigration. Her name is Ludmila Vertics, and she's a Latverian national!"

"Ah, crap!" Hickman groaned. "That's not good. Doom will be all over this one! His people don't respect borders or jurisdiction, and they don't mess around!

"Can you find anything else out about her, Sebastian?"

Berger shook his head. "Only that she's registered as a student at a school called Durmstrang Academy. Other than that, she has no digital footprint at all. No library card, no Facebook or Twitter account, no bank account or credit cards. No cellphone. How does that happen in this day and age? A teenage girl without a cellphone?"

Rhodey shrugged. "Cellphones are illegal in Latveria." He said. "So are home computers. There's no internet there, just a government intranet. Doom has towers all around the border that jam wi-fi and cell signals completely. All external signals, in fact. There are three landlines into Latveria; one to the Royal Palace, one to the Foreign Ministry and one to the Bank of Latveria. They have an internal landline system and a cable TV network that has two channels.

"Latverians can only hold accounts at the Bank of Latveria, and they have to be twenty-one before they can open one. It's illegal to lend or borrow money, with or without interest. All transactions – including international ones -are either barter or cash on the barrel-head."

Vittoria shook her head. "How do they live?" She asked.

"With zero crime, zero poverty and the highest educational achievement and per capita income in Europe and North America." Rhodey replied. "All in exchange for zero political or personal freedom and civil rights."

"What about this school, Sebastian?" Hickman asked.

Berger shook his head again. "There's a website. It calls itself a school for exceptional students with full facilities in a secure and isolated location. There's an email address , but all that gives is an automated response directing you to a PO box in Sofia. No phone number, no map, no pictures."

"One of those places where they hothouse young geniuses." McConnell speculated. "Or where rich people can squirrel their handicapped or problem kids away."

"There are no problem kids in Latveria," Rhodey supplied, "they don't allow them. And handicapped kids there are euthanised as soon as they're diagnosed."

"So how do we get to this school?" Hickman asked.

Rhodey's phone bleeped, and he glanced at the caller ID.

"I think the answer might be coming up now." He said.


	2. Chapter 2

**From Durmstrang With Blood**

 **Chapter Two**

"And I thought Hogwarts was bleak!" Willow noted.

"Beauxbatons is certainly more hospitable-looking than either." Gabrielle agreed.

The portkey supplied by WAND had dropped them in the courtyard of a truly medieval castle built of grim, dark grey stone. Durmstrang Institute was perched half-way up a mountain, miles from anywhere, in one of the most inhospitable locations in Europe.

"Apparently, they don't like visitors here." Willow said. "It took WAND ages to get permission for a portkey, and they have to clear every single use."

Gabrielle nodded. "In the Second World War, Bulgaria began as part of the Axis, and was then invaded by the Soviets and was under Communist rule until 1989. Wizards in such countries kept their heads down. At one time, Durmstrang even pretended to be located in Scandinavia, to throw off the KGB anti-wizard directorate."

"Can't say I blame them." Willow allowed. "Heads up! Here comes the welcome wagon!"

The figure approaching was tall, thin, wrapped in fur-lined robes and seemed to be slightly off-balance. As he came close, they saw he had a thin face with bushy eyebrows and a hooked nose. He greeted them with a slightly shy smile.

"Welcome to Durmstrang Institute." His English was fluent and only slightly accented. "I am Professor Viktor Krum, Flying Master, Quidditch coach and Deputy High Master here."

"I'm Agent Rosenberg, and this is Agent Delacour, with SHIELD." Willow replied.

Krum nodded. "Let us get out of this wind." He said. "We will speak in my office."

Durmstrang Castle was smaller and less labyrinthine than Hogwarts, but if anything, the corridors were even colder. As they walked, Gabrielle suddenly said: "You're _the_ Viktor Krum, yes? The Quidditch player who held the Best Seeker Trophy for six years running?"

Krum nodded. "Yes, though only by default."

"Default?" Gabrielle asked.

Krum grinned at her. "Harry Potter became an Auror." He said. "Had he become a professional player, he would have taken the trophy more often than I. I once saw him fly, it was a spectacle I shall never forget!

"But I do not need to ask to know that you are the sister of Fleur Delacour. I had the honour of competing against her in the Triwizard Tournament. The resemblance is striking. How is your sister?"

"Doing well, very happy." Gabrielle replied. "She is married to Bill Weasley, and they have a daughter, Victoire."

Krum laughed. "Those Weasleys!" He said. "Always they get the best girls. Ronald stole Hermione Granger from under my nose. It must be the red hair."

By this time they had reached his office. It was a small, cosy room, very definitely a 'man-cave', with its' Quidditch posters, team photographs and an old Firebolt racing broom above the hearth where a merry fire crackled.

"When I studied here," Krum remarked, "the fires were only ever lit for magical purposes. Our current High Master, however, is of the view that there is a difference between character-building and hypothermia.

"Speaking of Professor Orlov, he asks me to send his apologies but he is detained on another matter. You are not the only visitors to the school today, and while he respects SHIELD highly, he would prefer to avoid a diplomatic incident! He hopes you understand."

"So the Latverians are already here." Willow noted.

Krum nodded. "However, to come to business. The item was stolen from a small museum we keep in the Restricted Section of our library. It is a small vial which is purported to contain what is called Source blood.

"This, as you are undoubtedly aware, relates to the now extinct species known as Source vampires, the progenitors or creators of what is now known as the Black Court of vampires. The nature of the contents of the vial has never been accurately determined, as doing so would destroy the artefact, which was deemed to be of too great an historical and antiquarian interest to risk in investigating an unsubstantiated legend.

"You see, the artefact was recovered, amongst other items, by Van Helsing and his party when they searched Castle Dracula after dealing with its owner. Since it was considered to be of no greater importance than any of the other antiques kept here, no special precautions were taken to protect it. However, as with all items pertaining or belonging to Count Dracula, the vial was white-flagged, so when we reported the theft to the Ministry in Sofia, they were obliged to inform the White Council. The Council clearly regard the matter as being of sufficient gravity to call in SHIELD..."

The pause was obviously in hopes of an explanation. Willow gave him as much as she could:

"There are other factors involved, muggle factors. The team we belong to works across both communities.

"But you have a suspect?"

Viktor nodded, producing a file. "Ludmila Vertic, a final year student of Latverian nationality. She was assiduous in her studies, if not extraordinarily talented. All Latverian students are disciplined workers, we find. They also tend to hang together and not make friends outside their own nationality. Ludmila was the only Latverian student in her year, and so was rather isolated. She was, however, a keen mountain walker and climber.

"The reasons for her being under suspicion are largely circumstantial. She was seen in the Library, going into the Restricted Section, shortly before the vial was found to be missing. Her presence there was no cause for concern, as a final year student, she had access to the section, but when the Librarian went in there some fifteen minutes later, both she and the vial were missing. Naturally, the alarm was raised and a full roll-call taken, and Ludmila was not on the premises.

"An immediate search was prosecuted, but Ludmila has her Apparation license, and since she is of age, the Trace is no longer on her. She could be anywhere in the world by now."

"How long ago did this happen?" Gabrielle asked.

"Perhaps five hours." Krum told her. "Your response has been remarkably prompt."

Gabrielle got to her feet. "I need to see where the crime took place." She said.

Krum took them to the Library, and helped Willow to ensure Gabrielle was undisturbed while she examined the scene with her Sight. It took longer than usual, and Willow was beginning to worry when Gabrielle finally emerged. She looked weary and disturbed.

"Professor Krum," she said, "could I speak with my colleague privately?"

"Of course," he replied, "use one of the study rooms."

Once they were alone, Gabrielle virtually flopped into the hard wooden chair.

"Are you OK?" Willow asked anxiously. "You were a long time in there."

"I need a moment." Gabrielle replied. Willow noted that her French accent had thickened, a sure sign of stress. "I 'ad to go back in there three times. There was something...I 'ave seen nothing like it before."

Gabrielle closed her eyes and took several deep, cleansing breaths. "Ah!" She said. "Better! Ze muggle 'oo invented yoga was wiser than any wizard."

"Didn't know you did yoga." Willow commented.

"It is a recent thing." Gabrielle admitted, the French fading from her voice. "Doug is teaching me."

"Well, we figured it wasn't all medical consultation!" Willow noted with a grin.

"It isn't all yoga, either, as you have probably guessed." Gabrielle replied. "But to business. We can at least inform Professor Krum that his student is innocent. Whoever or whatever took that vial was not a witch, or even fully human!"

"Then what was it?" Willow wanted to know.

"I'm not sure, yet." Gabrielle allowed. "I need to talk to Doug and Bruce, and possibly some of the uber-nerds at HQ first."

"OK, but before that, I'll let Rhodey know what we've got." Willow said.

The news they had for Krum was clearly a matter of considerable relief to him. There being nothing else to be gained from remaining here, he escorted them down to the Great Hall "Not as impressive as Hogwarts, or as elegant as Beauxbatons, but it's ours, so I can't let you leave without seeing it!"

However, two figures were already there. One was an elderly, rotund and shinily bald wizard with a jovial face, wearing a more elaborate version of the same robes Krum was. The other was unmistakable. A towering, broad-shouldered figure in green hood, cloak and tunic over gunmetal-grey armour whose medieval appearance masked technology that almost matched the sophistication of Iron Mans'.

It was this armoured figure, peremptorily ending his dialogue with the other - obviously High Master Orlov – who bore down on the two SHIELD agents.

"I am Doom." He announced unnecessarily. He looked them both over, then turned to Willow. "You are Willow Rosenberg, one-time lickspittle to the stupid and unworthy Slayer, Buffy Sommers. To you I do not speak."

He turned his attention to Gabrielle. "Gabrielle Delacour, sister to Fleur Delacour, who is in turn sister-in-law to Harry Potter, a man I respect. Member of a unique SHIELD team led by Draco Malfoy, who is a kinsman of mine. For these reasons I will countenance you."

Gabrielle inclined her head. Her mind reeled with flip or sarcastic replies, but to get away with that when talking to Doom, you had to be Ben Grimm, Captain America or better.

"I presume you have been sent here on the same mission I have come. To establish the role of my subject in this matter. What have you found?" Doom asked.

"Ludmila Vertic was innocent of the theft from the Library." Gabrielle replied. "My Sight confirmed that the thief was not a witch, though I am as yet unsure of exactly what it was.

"If further evidence is needed, other members of my team are currently at a crime scene not far from here, examining the body of a young woman. She has been positively identified as Ludmila Vertic. Our Medical Officers' preliminary findings are that she died at least seven hours ago, probably longer, and we know that the theft took place no more than six hours ago, now."

Doom nodded. "For the Sight, I will take your word. I would know if you lied. As to the other, your Medical Officer is Douglas Howser, is he not? Then I will accept his findings. Tell him that should the day come when he wishes to fulfil his potential, there will always be a post for him in the Latverian Medical Service.

"Very well, at this time I will refrain from further investigation, on the condition that if and when you find the name of Ludmila Vertics' killer, you will inform me. Doom will not permit her murder to go unanswered."

"She was a person of importance, then?" Gabrielle was fishing, but Doom might take the bait.

His response was a sigh that might have been pity, contempt, or both. "All of my subjects are of importance to me, Mlle Delacour! They give me their loyalty and obedience, and in return I protect them, care for them and, when necessary, avenge them!"

With that, Dr Doom turned and strode out of the Hall without another word.

It had been a long time, Helen Magnus realised, since she had sat across a table from someone quite as dangerous as Draco Malfoy. Tall, slender, pale and coldly handsome, softly-spoken and impeccably courteous, he gave the impression of being thoroughly effete – a 'gentleman' rather than a 'player'.

But Helen knew the type. In her long life, she had encountered several men like Draco Malfoy. Men like Adam Adamant, Richard Hannay, Hugh Drummond, Peter Wimsey, Simon Templar and John Steed. Men apparently without a profession or a care in the world. Men you did not cross.

Dracos' subordinates, she judged, were worthy of him. Bruce Wayne she knew by reputation as an engineer of parts and peerless designer of weapons. Seeing him for the first time, Helen realised that he was a man as capable of using a weapon as he was of building one. The other, Agent Kent, was something of an enigma. Taciturn, mostly still, but moving when necessary with a lightness and fluidity that belied his stocky build. Despite the dark glasses, Helen was willing to bet his eyes missed nothing. She had a sixth sense about such things, and Kent was either a mutant, an Abnormal, or not of this Earth.

Helen exchanged a glance with her two associates, aware that both Nikola Tesla and Madame Vastra would have seen what she saw. There was no more putting it off. Malfoy was waiting patiently, but his cold grey eyes bored into her – he would not leave without answers. Helen took a deep breath and took the first mouthful of her least favourite dish – humble pie.

"Agent Malfoy, thank you for responding so quickly. I must begin by offering an apology, on behalf of the Sanctuary Network and myself personally, for a small deception we have been practising on the world in general, and wizards in particular, for some time now. A deception regarding the contents of a certain vial which was, until a few hours ago, in the possession of the Durmstrang Institute.

"The vial was found by Professor Van Helsing and his colleagues among the effects of Count Dracula. Though we were aware of the nature of the contents, we chose at that time to falsify that knowledge for reasons we then deemed adequate. To put it bluntly, if nobody suspected the contents were genuine, they would have no reason to regard the vial as being anything but a rather beautiful and very interesting antique. Nobody would be interested in opening it, and though it would be kept safe, it would draw no undue attention.

"Now it appears we made an error in judgement, for which I unreservedly apologise."

"Quite." Draco answered. "Though given the time at which the events took place, it would be fair to say that your embryonic network would have been in no position to prevent, or even survive, a turf war over the artefact between Warehouse 12 and the Torchwood Institute. Your discretion was hardly culpable, and indeed strikes me as eminently sensible."

And so the deal was struck, Helen realised. Draco had offered her a face-saving interpretation of the actions of the Five, in return for which he would expect, and get, full disclosure.

"My Assistant Director of Development, Mr Tesla, is in a better position than I to give you a full account." She said. "Nikola?"

Tesla did not need to be told what Helen expected -he had known her too long and too well to misinterpret even her slightest gesture or expression. His delivery was as detached and cool as a lecturer, despite the fact that the subject matter was of deep personal concern to both himself and Helen.

"The vial is approximately five inches in height and half an inch in diameter." He said. "It is made from what is called 'Britannia silver' – 95.8 per cent pure silver. It is inscribed with ancient lettering which precedes most human civilisations. I have some photographs which I have digitised for your convenience. The cap has been soldered shut using 22-carat gold. The soldering includes a cartouche or seal bearing the crest of House Dracula, and its' motto – _Vae Victis_.

"The vial contains an undisclosed amount, possibly one hundred millilitres, of pure Source blood. You don't need a history lesson right now, you can Google Source vampires later if you like. For now, I'll concentrate on the potential dangers.

"The amount, as it stands, is sufficient, given the right techniques, to clone a single Source vampire. Alternately, since half the amount produced the changes that made us the Five, the blood could be used to give ten people extraordinary, if unpredictable, gifts. In conjunction with certain other elements, it could produce as many as fifty full Black Court vampires or a hundred Blood-Thralls.

"All formidable enough. But if the technology exists, as it well might, to replicate the blood, in full or in part, then the dangers become greater. And this is without considering what might be done with the blood by skilled genetic engineers. It is possible that certain aspects of it might in fact be weaponised as a means of mind-domination or simply to spread madness. Imagine half the population of New York possessed by an uncontrollable blood-thirst!"

"Would anyone even notice a difference?" Draco remarked. "But your point is well taken. The substance is extremely dangerous in the wrong hands."

"In any hands." Helen stated flatly. "If you gain possession of the vial, Agent Malfoy, I urge you to destroy it and its contents immediately. I know SHIELD will want to analyse it, but the properties of Source blood are not fully understood, and its effects are completely unpredictable. Even with the best intentions, mistakes can be made."

"You were seen, you fool!" The scarred man snarled. "You swore to me you could do it, but you fooled nobody!"

Raven Darkholme fought to contain a surge of pure rage. She was not accustomed to being so berated by a flatscan.

"I fooled all but the last." She gritted.

"Silence!" The scarred man snapped. "One mistake is too many!"

Raven tensed despite herself, and the man laughed, tapping his forehead. "Try, if you like." He taunted her. "You're fast, I know you are. But not so fast that I couldn't switch that shiny new heart of yours off before you got within a yard of me. And remember, one day I will decide not to switch it back on. Or perhaps leave it off long enough for a little more brain damage to occur?"

She slumped back in her chair. He was right. They owned her, for now at least. But she was still Mystique, of the Brotherhood. It was not in her to surrender completely. "One day." She said softly. "One day, van Roek, you won't see me coming!"

Piet van Roek laughed again. "Really, Raven? I think not. You don't lack courage, but you're neither brave nor desperate enough – yet – to sacrifice your own life just to take me down. You're too selfish, too ambitious.

"But for now, I must consider your punishment."

"There will be no punishment." This was a new voice, and as it spoke, the large screen behind Van Roek lit up. The image revealed was of a man wearing a black uniform. He was hairless, with deep-socketed blue eyes, no nose and a lipless mouth. His skin was a deep red colour, and gleamed as if oiled.

Van Roek snapped to attention and saluted. "Hail HYDRA, Herr Reichsfuhrer! The woman must be punished, she failed in her mission."

The Red Skull shook his head. "The failure was not hers, Herr Gruppenfuhrer, but yours! The intelligence you gathered on the residence of the Day-Walker was incomplete. You told Fraulein Darkholme that Blade shared his home with a specialist who treated and researched his unique condition. You neglected to investigate further, or you would have known that that specialist is Michael Morbius, the Living Vampire.

"It is not the practice of HYDRA for leaders to place the blame for their own errors upon subordinates. We will discuss the matter of _your_ punishment at a more convenient time.

"For now, we must move the programme forward with greater dispatch than we had planned for. It seems that SHIELD are becoming more proficient at solving puzzles, and a team has already been assigned to this case. This information comes from a contact at the Durmstrang Institute. You may recognise the leader of the SHIELD unit– an English wizard named Malfoy?"

Very few people could have held van Roeks' eyes at that moment, but the Red Skull was one of them. The South African wizards' hand rose to his face, almost unconsciously tracing the line of the long, diagonal scar that ran across it, half-closing his left eye and pulling the right corner of his mouth down. No magic, no potion, no muggle surgery had been able to erase that scar, put there in the cellar of a house in Jamaica by Draco Malfoys' _sectumsempra_ curse. The HYDRA Healer had said that Malfoy had not only scarred van Roeks' face, but also his mind.

"I look forward to meeting Mr Malfoy again." Van Roek said softly.

The Skull shook his head. "You are not to seek him out, Herr Gruppenfuhrer, not this time. The mission is too important to risk on a personal vendetta. Should Malfoy fall into your hands, you may do as you will, but your first priority is the mission. Should I decide in due course that Herr Malfoys' career must be terminated, you have my world that you will lead that mission.

"For now, you must take the material you already have and join Count Orlok in the Carpathians. He is expecting you.

"Fraulein Darkholme, you have my apologies for the misinformation which led you into unnecessary risk. I note also that, despite the interruption, you secured the data we required. Therefore, you are temporarily brevetted to the rank of Hauptsturmfuhrer and given command of the defence unit at Castle Orlok. This does not mean that you are now a member of HYDRA, or that we trust you, but it is an opportunity for you to evidence your loyalty further. Please also remember that Gruppenfuhrer van Roek is not the only one with access to the controls of your cybernetic heart, and that he is still your commanding officer.

"Now, you have your orders. Hail HYDRA!"

"Packing, Nikola?" Madame Vastra asked.

Tesla suppressed an oath as he turned to face her. The tall Silurian woman was leaning casually in the doorway of his bedroom, wearing her usual urban combats and grinning at him.

"A short holiday." He said. "I have some time owed me, Vastra."

"How odd!" She said. "So do I. What a marvellous coincidence. We shall tour Romania together. I'm sure Helen would want me to keep you out of mischief."

Tesla did swear, this time. "Vastra, I have to make sure the Source blood doesn't fall into SHIELDs' hands. You know they'll mess about with it! God knows what could happen!"

"I entirely agree." Vastra said. "And I am coming along to make sure it does not fall into _your_ hands, Nikola. SHIELD are not the only ones who like to mess about with dangerous things! Strax had a positive obsession with grenades!"

Tesla sighed. There was no shaking the woman off, she was as tenacious as a Pit-Bull and twice as dangerous.

Later, as Vastra piloted the Sanctuary plane, he asked her. "Why did you come in, after all, Vastra?Helen was on at you for years to turn yourself in to us, even after the Doctor had his little chat with her. I thought you'd never come in, but I go away for a while, and when I come back, your Hibernation Pod is in storage. Helen never said anything, and I've not asked you about it since you woke.

Vastra shrugged, but there was a sadness in her voice as she replied. "I was left on my own, Nikola.

"Strax was a Sontaran, bred for battle, even if he'd been forced to become a nurse. He was nearly twelve when he came into my care in 1888. That's a good age for a Sontaran. They're clones who are 'born' as full adults and go directly into combat, you see. By 1914, he was almost thirty-six – the longest-lived Sontaran on record. He never seemed to age, and he never got sick, but he did become restive. I think he was afraid he'd die a natural death – something no Sontaran has ever done and which they'd regard as a deep disgrace. So in 1914 he volunteered. He died at the Somme, wiping out a German machine-gun nest single-handed. I still have his Military Cross somewhere.

"But one thing leads to another, doesn't it? If Strax had survived and come home, he'd have been able to nurse Jenny through the influenza in 1918. As it was, she died in my arms, poor, frail human that she was." Vastra shook her head. "You are so short-lived, compared to us, yet somehow you burn so much brighter!

"But then there was just me. The Doctor came from time to time, but he was never one to gather moss, even though he did try, once. In the end, I was simply tired, Nikola. So I brought my pod to Sanctuary and asked for a place to rest, to sleep. Helen didn't crow, or say she told me so. She was nothing but kind, and so I slept.

"But the pod was supposed to waken me at a set time, to see if the world was able to support we Silurians again, and that date came a year or so ago. Earth is able to support us, but unready -we did not realise how far your species would come in so short a time. Mere years ago, you would all have reacted with fear and anger, but you have seen so much in the last few years. In a few more, you will be ready to accept us, I think. All that then remains is to teach my people to accept you!"

Tesla was silent for a while, then said. "I always wondered something. It was clear that you and Jenny were very much in love, but exactly how far could you go in...er... _expressing_ that? In private, I mean, to each other?"

Vastra laughed. "As far as possible, of course! Physically, my species is not so very different from yours, at least in that respect. We may share traits in common with other reptiles, but we are warm-blooded live-bearers, as you are."

"Ah!" Tesla said. "You'll forgive my curiosity. I know you appear to have breasts, but I did wonder whether you gave that impression in order to make it easy for humans to treat you as a woman."

She laughed again, shaking her head. "No, Nikola, it's all me, I assure you! I do forgive your curiosity. You haven't seen me without my clothes on yet."

"Yet?" He repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, darling, we are supposed to be on holiday!" Vastra replied.


	3. Chapter 3

**From Durmstrang With Blood**

 **Chapter Three**

Willow and Gabrielle had apparated back to the plane, and so were waiting when Rhodey and the others arrived with the ICC team in tow. McConnell was clearly impressed.

"Yeah," he said to Doug, "this is a big plane, all right!"

"They do everything big in America." Berger told him.

Willow, being introduced to Hickman, drew him aside. "What is it with your right hand?" She asked.

Hickman shrugged. "Took a shot through it. It's crippled and it still hurts, but at least I'm off the morphine. That's why I'm working with these guys, now. Cop who can't shoot doesn't belong in the NYPD."

"You could always get it replaced." Willow told him. She showed him her left arm. "A Dalek took my own arm off of me in 2008, but you wouldn't know."

The detective shook his head. "NYPD medical cover does include bionic replacement. They sent me to Seattle Grace for an assessment, but the docs there found I had an eighty per cent chance of rejecting bionics. I didn't like the odds, so I stuck with what I had. The hand's still alive, at least, still has a blood supply, so I don't have to have it amputated. And where there's life, there's hope."

Willow nodded. It was a well-known and frustrating fact that perhaps thirty per cent of humans had a potentially bad reaction, either physical or psychological, to cybernetic replacement therapy.

The first order of business was to set up a video conference with the remaining members of the ICC team in Stuttgart, and the SHIELD team on the way back from Sanctuary in the Jumper.

Commissaire Louis Daniel, head of the ICC team, was a dark, rugged-faced man with deceptively sleepy eyes. Officer Arabela Seeger was a small black woman with a thin face and a watchful expression. Daniel spoke directly to Rhodey.

"Good to see you again, Colonel Rhodes. It's been a while."

"Sure has, Major." Rhodey replied. "Different kind of work for both of us now."

Daniel smiled briefly, then spoke to Draco. "Agent Malfoy, I was somewhat surprised when Detective Hickman informed me that SHIELD was on the scene. Is there anything I should know?"

"I don't think, Commissaire, that there is anything I can tell you that an officer of your experience cannot infer for himself." Draco replied. "Suffice to say that there are certain cross-jurisdictional aspects to these cases which I cannot explain any further until and unless our superiors give us both clearance."

Daniel nodded. "The presence of SHIELD indicates possible HYDRA involvement as clearly as sunrise indicates day, Agent Malfoy, and what little I know of that organisation tells me to leave that part of the matter in your capable hands. With some relief, I admit!"

"I gotta say, though," Hickman put in, "I'm sure glad these SHIELD ladies went to that school. I wouldn't have wanted to square up to Doctor Doom!"

"I hardly 'squared up' to him, M Hickman." Gabrielle noted. "We are lucky that he was prepared to be reasonable, if not exactly polite."

"However," Draco put in, "it does leave one slight issue. As Agent Rhodes intimated to Detective Hickman, we will, of course, inform your team when and if we have a clear suspect for the murders. But Agent Delacour -very wisely – agreed to share the information regarding Ludmila Vertics' killer with Doom. That being the case, Commissaire Daniel, you will need to move very quickly to make an arrest before the Latverians take what I imagine will be more direct action. Doing so might well put your people in harms' way, as well, since Doom is a determined individual and does not consider consequences."

"Or we could just leave the killer to the Latverians and save ourselves some time and trouble." McConnell remarked.

"A bridge we will cross when we come to it." Daniel decided. "Now, what do we know about the Vertics case?"

"We know that she died some time last night, at least twelve hours ago." Doug told them. "Cause of death is obvious, her throat was cut with what I guess was a combat knife of some kind. Despite the fact that she was found naked, there appears to be no sexual motive for the killing. I'll do a full virtual autopsy later and send the findings to Kommissar Berger."

"She died where she was found." Berger noted. "Carried to the spot, presumably from a vehicle, by either a small-footed man or a tall woman. The footprint traces the scanner found were of combat boots, but the size was too small for an average-sized or large man The stride-length indicated a disproportionate height to foot-size ratio for a normal male, hence the killer is probably a tallish woman."

"About the theft from the school." Willow reported. "Ludmila was seen in the area where the stolen item was kept, shortly before it went missing, and is as far as we can tell the only viable suspect for the theft.

"Unfortunately, we do know that the theft cannot have taken place until a least two hours after Ludmila was dead."

"Is anyone thinking what I'm thinking?" Hickman asked.

"That the killer took Ludmilas' clothes in order to disguise herself as Ludmila?" Officer Seeger responded. "But why take all the clothes? You don't need someones' underwear to pretend to be them!"

"To make us think it was a sex-related murder." Bruce Wayne told her. "To muddy the waters."

"And to make us look for a psychopath when our killer is actually an assassin." Vittoria added. "What was stolen?"

"A solid silver vial, sealed with gold." Draco told her. "The vial is chased with ancient hieroglyphs but the gold seal bears the arms of House Dracula. The object has considerable intrinsic and antiquarian value, especially to certain collectors. It supposed contents, if they still exist, are of even greater occult significance.

"If I may ask, who were the other murder victims, and what, if anything, was taken from or by them?"

"There are key similarities between all the cases." Seeger said. "All the victims were killed in the same way, in secluded but open-air places. All had undressed or been undressed prior to being killed. Most importantly, all of them were seen alive, and engaged in the retrieval or removal of certain items, some time after they were dead.

"Professor Hugo Brackley was a lecturer in Paranormal Studies at Oxford University. He was Europes' foremost specialist on the nature and history of Black Court Vampires and holder of the Godalming Medal for Vampire Research. He was found dead in a secluded inlet on the River Isis, but had been seen an hour or so after his established ToD in his office. Forensic examination of his computer shows that large amounts of data had been downloaded onto a flash drive. We're still working on what that data was, but it seems to concern the weaknesses of Black Court Vampires and information regarding so-called Vampire Thralls. I'm not sure what a Black Court Vampire is – I thought there was only one kind of vampire, the kind in films and books.

"The other victim was a Dr Friedrich Sterne. He was a haematologist doing research into genetically-engineered blood at Stuttgart University. Found dead in similar circumstances to the others, but security systems at his lab show him entering and leaving it some time after he was supposedly dead. All his current research data had been taken along with samples. He seems to have been working on a way to replicate blood from stem cells to produce large amounts of universal donor blood quickly and cheaply."

"So the common link, or links, between the killings, seem to be blood and vampirism." Daniel concluded. "Are we sure we are not dealing with a psychopath?"

"We could be dealing with a cult of some kind." Hickman said. "I came across a vampire cult in New York once. Bunch of people who dressed real Goth and drank each others' blood out of shot glasses. Weird."

"Sanguinarians." Willow noted. "They pop up now and again. Some are just wannabe vampires who've read too much _Twilight_ ; they dress up and drink tomato juice or red wine. Others make a kind of religion out of it, drinking blood for rituals. Then there's the ones who make a low-key S&M thing out of it where the dominants drink the submissives' blood – usually only a little at a time.

"Eccentric, but mostly harmless."

"That's the impression I got." Hickman allowed. "The ones I saw were being stalked and harassed by another group. Christian extremists who called themselves the Order of the Bloody Cross. One of the vampire cultists was killed, and that's how we got involved."

"Are we saying some kind of vampire cult is involved?" McConnell wanted to know.

Willow shrugged. "It's possible, I guess. Not all of them are teenage Goths. Some are older and well-off, even wealthy. But I think there might be politics involved."

"The political situation in Eastern Europe is at the moment, relatively stable." Daniel told them. "But nor everyone is happy that, so soon after the removal of Soviet hegemony, most of these countries have joined the EU. As well as left-wing anti-capitalist and anti-globalisation movements there are right-wing nationalist parties demanding what they call 'true' independence.

"Dr Howser, if there are indeed organic remains in this vial, could DNA be extracted from them?"

"Potentially, I suppose." Doug replied. "A few years ago, we'd have said it would be too degraded. Back in 1993, they managed to identify the remains of the Romanovs by using mitochondrial DNA from the skeletons and matching it against Prince Philip, among others. We've come along way since then, a couple years ago they mapped the full genome of a body that's been frozen in the Alps since 3105 BCE."

"I remember that." Vittoria remarked. "They called him 'Otzi' and there is still a debate about whether he was a German or an Italian!

"But what would DNA from this vial have to do with anything?"

"House Dracula were legendary rulers, _voevodes_ , in Wallachia in the 15th Century." Draco explained. "Vlad III, called 'the Impaler', remains a folk-hero among Romanians and Bulgarians due to his exploits against the Ottomans. Anyone who could prove him- or her- self a descendant -especially with DNA evidence – would be in a strong position to lead and strengthen nationalist movements in that area. Something which would fit HYDRAs' right-wing agenda and possibly cause a good deal of disruption in Europe."

"Would anyone be interested in restoring a 15th century line to a throne?" Seeger wanted to know.

Draco chuckled. "Royal lines, and their adherents, can be extraordinarily persistent." He said. "The Priory of Sion may have been a hoax, along with its aim to restore the Merovingian monarchy to France, but other such societies are quite real. The Chinese Triads are not simple criminal gangs, but were formed with the aim of restoring particular Imperial Chinese dynasties – an aim some of them still hold. The Royal Stuart Society in Britain may be simply an historical society whose only political commitment is to monarchism in general, but there are still little clusters of Jacobites here and there who support the claim of House Stuart to at least the Scottish throne. The current Stuart heir, His Royal Highness Franz, Duke of Bavaria, makes no such claims, however. But should the Act of Union be repealed, as many Scots seem to wish, then matters might well be different.

"But a Royal claimant, in a country that has for so many years been dominated by one or another extra-national faction, could be a rallying point for right-wing extremists.

"As to the vampire research, the occult history of the Black Court is intertwined at several points with the mundane history of House Dracula. Such a link could either be exploded to aid a candidates' 'real world' credentials, or exploited to add personal mystique."

"That makes a weird kind of sense." Hickman allowed. "But what about the haematology research?"

"It's not only DNA you find in old organic material." Doug pointed out grimly. "The 15th century was chock-full of nasty little pathogens you don't find around any more and that modern people have no resistance to. Could be that HYDRA, if it is them, are helping these Royalists just so they can get their hands on whatever diseases might be in that vial. Genetically-enhanced Black Death, anyone?"

"Not a pleasing prospect." Daniel admitted. "The Plague almost depopulated Europe on several occasions. So how do we proceed?"

"I think it best," Draco said, "that your ICC team concentrate on the murder investigation. We will look specifically for the vial, on the assumption that where it is, the other stolen matter will be. With luck, we shall also find out who or what is behind this whole affair.

"Naturally, Commissaire, we will keep you posted in so far as your clearance allows. It may be that Director Rogers will allow us some latitude in the matter, as you will be assisting us to some degree."

"Be good not to be kept in the dark, for a change." McConnell remarked.

 _Welcome to Romania!_ Tesla mused as he ripped the throat out of his assailant. That wouldn't kill it, of course, but the subsequent swipe of Teslas' claws across the belly was a fatal wound, spilling the stored blood that kept the beast alive. Preferring not to watch the unpleasant process of shedding the flesh-mask that invariably accompanied death, Tesla turned to see how his companion was faring.

Vastra had already sliced one of their four assailants into sections, and was just concluding the process with another. Her form was excellent, Tesla noted, the way she wielded the long, curved blade put him in mind of the most skilled _kenjustu_ masters. But the style was not Japanese, though there were similarities. Vastras' Silurian technique was older, more developed, and made use of her greater strength and striking speed. As she disposed of her opponent, the fourth attacker made to flee. Vastra turned her head and shot out her tongue, which extended some seven feet to strike the creature in the back of the neck. It stiffened and toppled over.

"Damn!" Tesla said. "We could have done with talking to him!"

"We still can, Nikola." Vastra told him. "My venom doesn't kill a Red Court vampire, but it does partially paralyse them. He won't be able to move for some hours, but he'll be able to talk."

They went over, and Tesla turned the body over with a foot. "Now, what is going on here?" He asked. "Eastern Europe is still Black Court territory. I didn't think they let the animals run around loose."

The vampire snarled at him. "We'll be free one day!" He spat. "The Blacks are senile, cowardly. They hide and sneak and make deals with humans to be safe. It will weaken them, and we'll be waiting. You were supposed to be a reminder, a warning that we're still here, still strong.

"But you're not Black, are you? You...you're _Source_!"

"More or less." Tesla said. "Now it goes like this, friend. This alley runs east to west, and the sun will be up long before my colleagues' venom wears off. It will nicely dispose of what's left of your little crew, I see they're starting to dissolve already. But it may take longer to dispose of you, yes?"

Red Court vampires, except the very oldest, cannot survive direct sunlight. The vampires' eyes widened in fear.

"Thought so." Tesla smiled. "Too young to survive, but too old to die quickly. And this being Romania, anyone who hears you screaming and comes to look, will know exactly what you are and leave you to it, of course.

"Now, we could kill you quickly right here and now, save you all that burning and melting. But you need to cooperate. So, who is in charge of the Black Court, here?"

Despite his fear, the vampire managed to curl his lip. "You don't know?" He asked. "Who do you think? The Count, of course. It's always been the Count. Probably always will be."

Tesla nodded. "So he did survive, then! I thought he might. He was too old, too powerful, for Van Helsings' group to take down completely. Probably weakened him for a long time, though. Must have taken a while to re-establish his dominance.

"At the very least, it would be courteous to let him know somebody swiped a family heirloom of his. A place to start."

"How do we know it wasn't him?" Vastra asked.

"Because if he wanted it back, he'd have asked for it a long time ago, and got it with much less fuss." Tesla said. "Wizards and the Black Court do have certain treaties and agreements, which both mostly keep to. Especially about minor matters such as personal property.

"It seems, Vastra my dear, that our next stop will be the Borgo Pass!"

They turned to go. The vampire on the ground called. "Hey! You said you'd give me a quick death."

Tesla turned back. "So I did." He said, then grinned, displaying his gleaming fangs. "I lied."

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a suspect." Draco announced.

The team had just reconvened after various tasks had been completed. Now Draco gestured them to the table at the side of the briefing room. "If I am any judge, most if not all of you will have neglected to take lunch. Please help yourselves to tea, coffee, sandwiches and so forth."

"I'll say one thing about the Boss," Clark remarked quietly to Bruce, "he takes care of us, in his own way. I've missed less meals after joining this team than in all the time I've spent with SHIELD and in the SEALs."

"Brits." Bruce answered. "Shoot at 'em, bomb 'em, try to knife 'em, and they're like "Oh, how tedious". But if tea isn't on the table at four sharp, all Hell breaks loose!"

It looked remarkably like a family lunch, with everyone sitting round the table, plates and cups in front of them. Draco added to the feel by speaking in a calm, conversational tone.

"I have received a report from Director Rogers. It seems that in the early hours of this morning, a SHIELD safe-house was the target of a break-in.

"The house has two residents. One is Eric Brooks, who calls himself Blade, the Day-Walker; a vampire hunter of repute. The other is a research scientist who also acts as Mr Brooks' personal physician. His name is Dr Michael Morbius, but he rejoices in the unfortunate soubriquet of the 'Living Vampire'.

"It seems that Dr Morbius heard suspicious sounds in the early hours, and came down to find what was apparently Mr Brooks in his laboratory. However, Dr Morbius possesses certain advantages, and was able to ascertain that it was not, in fact, his resident patient. Upon the exchange of some pleasantries, the intruder was revealed to be Miss Raven Darkholme, codenamed Mystique.

"Miss Darkholme subsequently fled, carrying with her a flash drive – whatever that may be – containing much of Dr Morbius' research on a number of drugs which can be used to suppress vampiric bloodthirst.

"Rhodes, what do we know of Miss Darkholmes' antecedents and possible affiliations?"

Rhodey tapped the table to activate its touch-pad surface, and began to search files, projecting them onto the plasma screens around the room.

"Raven Darkholme, codenamed Mystique. Height five-seven, weight around 112 pounds, hair red, eyes yellow, skin blue in her natural form. Exact age unknown, but reported to have been a young adult in around 1905, suggesting a birth date in the 1880s or 1890s. Hybrid-class mutant, displaying both feral and metamorphic characteristics. Enhanced physical abilities and healing, including, apparently, longevity. Free-form shape-shifting powers, enabling her to take on the form of anyone she has seen.

"Mother of the late anti-mutant campaigner Graydon Creed by the late Victor Creed, codenamed Sabretooth. Also mother of the late Kurt Wagner, codenamed Nightcrawler, by the mutant Azazel. She doesn't have much luck, the Daleks got both her sons as well as Sabretooth in '08.

"Long career as a spy and assassin in both government and private sectors until she joined the Brotherhood of Mutants in the 1990s, becoming Erik Lensherrs' lover for a time. In 2008, according to Magneto, she refused to join the rest of the Brotherhood to fight the Daleks, going underground and off the grid for a while.

"She re-emerged earlier this year as a member of the Scholomance, joining a witch named Arabella Riddle in an attempt to assassinate Harry Potter. Shortly thereafter, she was present when a strike team led by Ron Weasley attacked the Scholomance HQ. Last seen being pursued by a mob of angry _wesen_ she'd been manipulating."

"Thank you, Rhodes." Draco said. "Well, that explains a good deal about our murders, though the point of the clothing niggles. If memory serves – and I have personal experience in the matter – Miss Darkholmes' abilities stretch to transforming her clothing as well as herself."

"They may have done, once." Cypher remarked. "But maybe not now. Gabrielle?"

The French witch grimaced. "When I used my Sight to examine the scene of the theft at Durmstrang, I did indeed see Ludmila Vertics take the vial. But her shape was, how to say it, _superimposed_ upon the form of this Mystique. But more than that. Inside the form I sensed metal and electricity. Not as if she were wearing armour, but as if there were machines inside her."

"So you're saying that Mystique is now a cyborg?" Rhodey asked. Gabrielle nodded, and he went on. "Well, that kinda makes sense. If those _wesen_ caught her, they'd have messed her up pretty bad. But if a HYDRA squad came by and drove them off, well, she's part feral, and ferals don't die easy. They might've been able to stabilise her long enough to get her to a proper facility. HYDRA are always keen to make cyborgs out of wounded operatives, and unlike SHIELD, they don't care whether the patient wants to be treated that way!"

"Problem with that is," Cypher put in, "that bionics aren't always good for mutants. Especially not metamorphs, whose power depends on their ability to manipulate their own molecules. Anything foreign in their bodies won't change, and that can cause problems. It's a systemic thing, and while it might not damage Mystiques' ability to change her own appearance, it could have stopped her from being able to alter her clothing. That would leave her the option of cybernetically-controlled adaptive polymer, or a holo-projector, neither of which would work in a high-magic environment."

"Surely this holo-projector could be -what is the phrase – pulse-hardened?" Draco asked.

Bruce shrugged. "With some devices, it's a trade-off. " He explained. "You can make a holo-projector the size of a cigarette pack, but the extra tech you need to harden it is bigger than the projector, so in the end it's not worth it.

"If Mystique knew she'd be going into a high-magic area, she might have undressed all her victims as a forensic counter-measure. Except Blade, who'd have made shish-kebab out of her if she'd tried!"

"Fair enough." Draco said. "Well, now that we have a suspect, we have obligations to fulfil. Rhodes, if you would contact Commissaire Daniel? I myself shall deal with my illustrious relative."

Just then, alarms began to go off. The screens automatically shifted to an outside view, showing the airfields' security staff engaged in a one-sided battle with attackers wearing all-too-familiar combat gear.

"Oh, for Heavens' sake!" Draco growled. "I do so hate it when lunch is interrupted! Shall we go?"


	4. Chapter 4

**From Durmstrang With Blood**

 **Chapter Four**

Draco was not, or had not been, a great lover of firearms, but he had to admit that the weight of the SHIELD sidearm at his hip was reassuring as he headed down to the exit ramp with his team. Not that he would ever use it in preference to his wand, but it was good to have a fall-back. Beside him, Rhodey had equipped himself with a 12-gauge tactical shotgun. The big man was clearly expecting close combat. Agent Kent had selected an assault rifle, while Bruce Wayne carried a sub-machine gun. Both the witches were equipped as Draco was, with wands and sidearms. Cyphers' voice sounded in their ears.

"They've pretty much cleared out the guards, but not before they sent for back-up. There's a company of regulars on the way, about ten minutes out.

"Our guests are HYDRA shock troops. I've jammed their comms so they'll have to shout and they'll get no help from their base.

"Some of them are carrying bombs - I think they're for the plane, but I've deactivated the detonators. I count mostly small arms, but two of them are wearing Webs and one of those has a Satan Claw."

"They'll be the senior officers." Rhodey noted. "HYDRA give weapons out according to rank, not skill."

"The Webs are good against small-arms fire," Willow noted, "against magic, not so much."

"Engage with lethal force." Draco ordered. "Past history indicates that the chances of taking or keeping HYDRA operatives alive for interrogation are nil to bugger-all. Cypher, watch the radar. There will be an aircraft nearby which might attempt an extraction if communications are lost for too long."

"Roger that."

There was neither the time nor the need for subtlety. Three simultaneously cast fireballs caused havoc among the fifteen strong attacking force, who were advancing in close order due to the loss of comms. HYDRA battlesuits are flame-resistant, but not to a direct hit from magical fire. The remaining ten quickly adopted an open formation and looked for cover. Unfortunately that was hard to come by on the wide concrete apron the SHIELD plane was parked on. The last four feet of the ramp flipped up to form a barricade behind which Dracos' team crouched.

The three magic users and Kent kept up a steady barrage, killing three more and keeping the others pinned down. Rhodey and Bruce waited their turn, keeping their shorter -range weapons in reserve. Then Cypher warned. "The Webs have gone live!"

Two figures charged down on the barricade, jinking and dodging with more than human speed and dexterity. The cybernetic Webs they wore were now directly stimulating their nervous systems, adrenal glands and muscles. Their physical abilities were enhanced, but at a cost -the longer the Webs were active, the more damage would be done.

But this was what Rhodey and Bruce had been waiting for. As the first one reached the barricade, Rhodey popped up and fired at point-blank range. The Web extended a protective magnetic field across the body, but not the head, and it was there that Rhodey aimed. The result was an instant and rather messy decapitation.

Bruce took aim at the second, who was clearly the senior officer, identified by the metal gauntlet on his left hand -the Satan Claw. Lacking the blasting power of the shotgun, Bruce aimed at the centre of the body, relying on his rapid-firing weapon to overload the shield. It did, and stitched a line of wounds across the mans' torso that should have downed him. But the Web kept him functioning. He raised the Claw, which crackled with electrical energy. One touch to the barricade would electrify the entire plane, causing a lot of damage.

Dracos' counter-spell was powerful and precise. The notoriously unstable Satan Claw detonated with enough force to tear its unfortunate wearer in half.

"Euuh!" Willow complained. "Why do guys always like to make a mess?"

"They are still little boys at heart." Gabrielle told her.

"Aircraft incoming!" Cypher reported. "Low and fast. HYDRA profile. Want me to take it down?"

"Negative." Draco said. "Hold fire unless it moves to attack posture."

The HYDRA VTOL troop-carrier did indeed come in fast and low, to hover just behind the ragged line of operatives, crouching in what meagre cover they could find. The men glanced from the aircraft to the defenders, clearly weighing their chances, until one of them decided to make a break for it.

"Hold your fire!" Draco commanded. "Let them go."

Encouraged by their team-mates' success, the last four attackers ran for and boarded the aircraft, which immediately turned and sped away.

"Now why," Kent asked, "did you do that, Boss? We had 'em pinned down, we could've taken all of them and the carrier."

"Indeed we could, Kent," Draco replied, "at the cost of considerable ammunition, more time and some risk to ourselves. I believe it was Sun Tzu who pointed out that men left without an escape route will discover their courage and fight hard, to the death. If, however, they have a way to flee, they will do so and end the battle quicker.

"We have far more important matters to attend to than the tedious winkling out of low-level HYDRA cannon-fodder. Cypher, do you have anything for us?"

"Sure do, Boss. Before I jammed their comms, I back-traced them. Far as I can make out, they were coming out of Romania, somewhere in the Carpathians. That's also where the troop-carrier seems to be heading. Don't know the exact location, but I should be able to get a fix on it from closer in."

"Splendid!" Draco said. "I see that the Bulgarian regulars have arrived. I had best make my report to their CO, then we should depart at once. Carry on, Rhodes."

"Gotcha, Boss." Rhodey said. "OK, people, wheels up in thirty!"

"So, Nikola, do you want to tell me exactly what we're getting into?" Vastra asked. "You must bear in mind that Vampires were unknown among my people, and it is not a thing I have studied since my awakening."

"Hum!" Tesla mused. "Short version, then. There are currently three species, or 'Courts' of Vampires active. The White Court are as old as Humanity itself, and may indeed be an evolutionary offshoot, Abnormals, though they will have no dealings with Sanctuary. They are born, not made, and they feed on emotion, psychic energy. Differing clans feed on different emotions – more by custom than out of need – and they live peaceably among humans.

"The Black Court – the classic Vampires of Gothic fiction -were created by the Source Vampires. Source Vampires were a species that evolved specifically to prey on humans, and as such were stronger, longer-lived and more intelligent. They ruled humans for centuries. But when the Gou'a'ould arrived on Earth and began to take over some parts of it, the Source Vampires needed warriors to match the Jafar. They created them by giving their own blood to certain humans upon whom they had already been feeding. The resulting hybrids were immensely strong and fast, highly intelligent, but required human blood to function fully. After the Gou'a'ould withdrew, the Source Vampires tried to eliminate the hybrids, but by that time they had become too many and too strong. They joined with the humans and overthrew their creators before withdrawing into the shadows and becoming the Black Court.

"The Red Court Vampires do not originate on Earth, but in the Never-never, where the Fae call them Niskaru, and hunt them down whenever they can. Some centuries ago, an ill-advised wizard summoned a pack of them in the hope of using them as hunting beasts. They killed him and began to spread on Earth. They hide behind 'flesh masks' and reproduce either sexually among themselves, or by infecting human victims with their eggs, which over-write the human DNA and cause the Vampire to take over.

"The gentleman we are about to visit is one of the oldest surviving Black Court Vampires, having voluntarily undergone the change in the 1470s. He is very clever, very powerful and has his own sense of honour. Exercise caution, Vastra, dear. He may or may not know of your kind, but it is unlikely that he has ever met one. He will be curious and he has considerable mental abilities which he may use to probe you for weaknesses."

"That's all right." Vastra smiled. "Apart from a penchant for enjoying sex with humans, I don't have any."

Castle Dracula was the ruin they expected. What they did not expect was the modern wing that had been added to the southern quarter of the large inner ward. A comfortable-looking two-storey building, triple-glazed, if Tesla was any judge, and clad in local stone. They were welcomed by a monosyllabic and silent-footed servant who escorted them into a comfortable lounge where a large picture window gave a view onto the mountains. The room was furnished in a somewhat old-fashioned style, with heavy but comfortable-looking chairs and oak cabinets and sideboard. Several of these chairs were drawn in front of a merry fire, and two of them were occupied.

The man who rose to greet them from one of them was an even six feet tall and wiry. He was wearing dark trousers and a white shirt, open at the neck. His face seemed almost triangular, with a broad brow and a long, narrow jaw. His nose was a pronounced aquiline, thin and high-bridged, his eyes large and wide-set, dark brown with a gleam of red where the light caught them. He wore his long dark hair in a ponytail and the full-lipped mouth was shadowed by a thick moustache. When he smiled in greeting, his white teeth gleamed, the sharpened canines clearly visible.

"Be welcome in my home," he said in a rich baritone, only slightly accented, "come freely, go safely, and leave behind some of the happiness you bring."

"Count Dracula." Tesla inclined his head.

The Count gave a courtly bow, but did not offer a hand. "Count Dracula, or _voivode_ Drakul, if you wish, Dr Tesla, it is an honour to have a scion of the Source under my roof." He turned to Vastra and bowed again. "It is also a signal honour to welcome a member of the ancient and noble Silurian people into my home."

"An honour to be here." Vastra replied, with a bow of her own.

Dracula smiled again, then gestured to the hearth, where the other figure had also risen, and now came forward. "As you see, I have another guest. An old friend and frequent house-guest."

"Call me Ken." The other man said in a rather harsh bass voice. Vastra thought that 'man' might not be the right word, however. Ken stood a little over eight feet tall, and was built on heroic proportions. His hair was also dark, but cut short. His face was square and rugged, the eyes an odd light grey.

"Ken...?" Tesla murmured, then more directly. "Ken _Stein_ , by any chance? Only the last time I saw you, you were calling yourself Wendigo and you were geeking in a sideshow at an Alabama carnival. You look a lot better now."

Ken grinned. "I've had some work done. The carny thing helped pay for it. Victor tried his hardest, but he forgot one thing. Subcutaneous fat. My old face was just skin over muscle, but a few injections here and there, and some contacts, and a brand-new me!

"The Count here was one of the few people who'd put up with me as I was, so we're old friends, as he said."

"Don't look around like that." Dracula told Vastra quietly. "I haven't collected the set. Poor Larry Talbot is long dead, and as for Im-ho-tep, I wouldn't give that bandaged lunatic house-room!

"Come, sit. We will take tea and talk of affairs!"

The silent servant fetched a tray of Darjeeling and Cadbury biscuits.

"I see you still have Thralls." Tesla noted. Dracula shrugged.

"Three or four. Former drug addicts plucked from the streets of Bucharest." He told them. "They now live useful and productive lives, albeit at my command. But you did not come here to assess my household. Why does Sanctuary wish to speak with me?"

"Not Sanctuary." Tesla replied. "This is a matter that concerns you and I on a more personal level, Count. You are aware, are you not, that an item of your property is kept at the Durmstrang wizarding school? A silver vial chased with ancient hieroglyphics and sealed with your family crest in gold?"

Dracula frowned. "I knew it was missing. I assumed Van Helsing and his sticky-fingered gang made off with it, amongst other things, whilst I was...indisposed. I didn't know the wizards had it. Why?"

"It was stolen a day ago." Vastra told him. "We don't know why or by whom. SHIELD suspects HYDRA, of course, and the White Council are concerned. We wondered if you might know more, or have a better idea as to who."

Dracula took a sip of tea, and set his cup down. "I had hoped," he said, "that whoever had that item merely regarded it as an interesting and valuable antique. I am not so naïve as to assume you came here simply in pursuit of a stolen antique, so you are aware of its contents?"

"Pure Source Blood, so the rumour goes." Tesla confirmed.

Dracula nodded, then sighed. "I had hoped it might never come to this. I keep abreast of developments in the larger world, Dr Tesla. I am aware that the technology exists to reproduce the blood in significant quantities while still retaining a good many of its unique properties. I do not doubt that HYDRA, if they are involved, possess that capacity.

"But there is only one individual who has the ability and knowledge to draw out the full potential of the blood. Come with me, please."

He led them up a winding stairway, the creature who called himself Ken following silently behind. Eventually they reached a glass-walled observation deck that had clearly once been a look-out post for the old castle. Dracula swept an arm around to take in the entire magnificent landscape.

"This corner of the Carpathians," he said, "has long had a dark reputation. A reputation to which, I admit, I have contributed in large part.

"Over there, you see the ruins of Castle Ferenczy. The so-called Baron Ferenczy was actually an Englishman named Hutchinson, who fled from the American colonies in the 1690s and bought the title. He conducted necromantic experiments there until 1929, when the castle was blown up, by whom I do not know. Since then, various groups and individual have excavated the ruins in the hope of uncovering his secrets. Fools.

"Just beyond that ridge you see the topmost ramparts of Castle von Klorr, home of Baron Helmut von Klorr, his family and their...pets. Their best-known scion was Baron Maximilian, a Great War flying ace. But the family had Royalist leanings which did not sit well with the Nazis, and they came here in the 1930s to live in isolation. The Communists didn't bother them any more than they did me."

Then Draculas' face changed, his eyes glowing red, and the sharp teeth becoming more pronounced as he pointed north. "But there, on the other side of that mountain, stands the oldest and grimmest of all. Castle Orlok, home of Count Orlok, perhaps the oldest of all Black Court Vampires.

"I confronted Orlok centuries ago, and he barely escaped with his life. But if he lays hands on the Source Blood, he will regain his power, and everything I have fought for could be set at naught. If he is working with HYDRA, then the consequences, for all of us, are unthinkable!"

There was a silence. Then, inappositely, Teslas' cellphone trilled. "Could have sworn I turned this off!" He muttered, looking at the screen. "SHIELD?" He said, then lifted the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Dr Tesla?" The dry, English tones were unmistakable. "This is Draco Malfoy. Please inform your host we will be arriving shortly. We have matters of mutual interest to discuss."

" _Crucio!_ " van Roek barked. The HYDRA trooper screamed and fell writhing to the floor. Van Roek grinned as he held the spell, until another voice intervened.

"What the hell d'you think you're doing to my men!"

Mystique, in full HYDRA uniform, stormed into the room. Van Roek released the curse and turned to confront her.

"Your job!" He snapped. "Punishing cowardice and failure!"

Raven shook her head and rolled her eyes. "On your feet!" She told the man on the floor, then addressed the five survivors of the strike team. "Anybody injured? No? Report to debrief, then eat and get some sack time. Report for reassignment at 06:00 tomorrow. Dismiss."

The men fled, Mystique turned to van Roek, who was glaring at her, his face so pale with anger that his scar stood out more vividly than ever.

"How dare you!" He hissed.

"Because you're a bloody idiot!" She told him. "You went over my head to order that strike, just when I had an infiltration team ready to go in and cripple the plane. I could've kept the SHIELD team stuck at that airport long enough for us to finish here and be gone.

"Then those men went in shooting under your orders. Twenty men, and we got five back. Dammit, Piet, the airport security got five of them! I had to pull my people out or Malfoys' lot would have handed them their arses as well! What were you thinking?"

"You will address me as Gruppenfuhrer van Roek!" He snapped.

"I'll address you as 'plonker' if I feel like it!" She snarled. "Just remember, the Red Skull put me in command of the forces here. Your job is project management.

"The Skull keeps you around because you're loyal, a good troubleshooter and a hell of a wizard. But tactically, you suck, van Roek. It's a good job Malfoy's the leader he is, or we'd have lost the whole squad. He could've used the planes' heavy weapons to take our men out, and flattened the airport doing it, but he led his team out there and did the job right. Even let the survivors go.

"One good thing is that once the Skull heard about this debacle he deactivated your access to my heart. You can't switch me off now, which means I don't have to worry about killing you if you cock things up again!"

Pier van Roek was possibly lost for words, at least, he remained silent long enough for another voice to intrude. A soft, sibilant voice with a glutinous undertone that made it hard to listen to but impossible to ignore.

"I had assumed you to be an American, my dear. I seem to have been mistaken, given your idiom."

"I've lived in America from time to time, Count Orlok," Mystique replied, "but yes, I'm an Englishwoman by birth."

Count Orlok might once have stood six and a half feet tall. Hunched and bent as he was, he was still tall. He stalked forward with a stiff gait, as one who can no longer move as easily as he once did. His face was corpse-pale and thin, he was hairless apart from dark eyebrows, his ears were large, high-set and pointed. A pair of needle-sharp incisors protruded over his lower lip and he surveyed Raven with large, unblinking eyes. He gestured with a long-fingered hand.

"Anger often leads us to betray our true selves." He noted. "But it is of little use when other work must be done.

"Am I to take it that this SHIELD team you speak of is likely to be upon us shortly?"

"They still don't know where we are." van Roek pointed out.

"Don't they?" Raven asked him. "Malfoys' IT specialist is Douglas Ramsay, formerly the X-Man codenamed Cypher. I've encountered his skills before. He'll have traced our comms and tracked the transport. He'll know we're in the Carpathians somewhere. Once they get here, all our jammers and firewalls won't help. He'll find us!

"The good news is that they'll have to go for a frontal attack. There's no way they can flank us with precipices on two sides and the mountain behind. That said, they've got a War Machine operator in that team as well as the planes' armament. With what I have, I can hold for a while against that kind of firepower, but not win. They'll get through, before reinforcements can get here."

"Then I suggest, Hauptsturmfuhrer Darkholme, that you prepare your defences as best you can." van Roek decided. "The Count and I will expedite our work here, and be ready to leave as soon as practicable. Hail HYDRA!"

"Whatever." Raven replied as she turned to go.

"An insubordinate, but effective asset, Herr Gruppenfuhrer." Orlok remarked.

Van Roek snorted. "An expendable tool!" He snapped. "A mutant supremacist and terrorist whose cause died in 2008, along with so many others. HYDRA endures, and so she sought shelter with us.

"How does your work proceed, Count?"

"Better than I expected." Orlok allowed. "Your technicians and equipment are far superior to anything I was able to purchase on the black market. I will admit there were also gaps in my own knowledge your people were able to fill.

"The thirst has always been the Achilles heel of both the Black and Red Courts. This Dr Morbius has made remarkable strides in controlling it."

"Self-interest." van Roek pointed out. "Neither he nor Blade chose to become what they are. Morbius seeks a cure for his condition, Blade merely wishes to carry on his silly crusade."

"Quite so." Orlok agreed. "But it benefits us. You will have your army, with the powers of the Black Court, and none of our weaknesses, bound to you by their need for your serum. And as you promised, there will be enough of the Source blood left for me to regain my former vigour.

"But tell me, Herr Gruppenfuhrer, does our bargain not place us eventually at odds? A revived Black Court would be a threat to HYDRA, surely?"

Van Roek shrugged. "HYDRAs' goal is to improve humanity. To allow superior men and women to reach their full potential and to, eventually, reduce the numbers of the inferior. Education, training, careful breeding, controlled conflict, those are our tools. Your kind are another, a predator to cull the weak and foolish, as we will cull your weak and foolish. This is the way of nature, of evolution."

 _This old fool,_ he thought, _hopes to restore the glory days when Vampires ruled humans. But he will find himself caught in a war of attrition with the Red Court. When they have fought to a standstill, HYDRA will eradicate the remainder of both._

Aloud, he said. "We should go to the lab, Count. The imminent arrival of SHIELD forces has shortened our timetable."


	5. Chapter 5

**From Durmstrang With Blood**

 **Chapter Five**

"Count, or Graf, Orlok is unthinkably old." Count Dracula explained, helping himself to a generous slice of the blood-rare beef that formed the centrepiece of a sumptuous dinner. "For centuries, he was the acknowledged leader of the Black Court in Europe. He presided at the ritual which ensured my resurrection as Undead, and was my mentor in the traditions of the Court."

"What happened between you?" Draco asked. "My father told me you and Orlok had a falling -out, but he never went into details. That was after you stopped visiting, I was only a boy."

Dracula nodded. "Your father and I had a difference of political opinion, young Draco. I had thought his Death-Eater affiliation to be a folly of youth, but when I discovered that he continued to plot for the resurrection of Voldemort, and indeed asked my aid in the matter, we argued and our friendship ended. Narcissa continued to write me, when she could, which is why I knew of Lucius' death. A noble one, at least. But she told me you worked as a liaison officer at the FBS."

"As far as she knows, that is what I do." Draco told him. "Mother worries, you know. It's best she thinks I'm safely tied to a desk"

"And it means she poses no security risk." Dracula nodded. "But as to your question, I became _wamphyr_ to continue doing as I had always done, protecting my people. I knew that several of my _boyars_ had been bought by the Turks, and that a price had been set upon my head. I was determined to take every precaution.

"In due course, I was betrayed and ambushed. I had set a double - a loyal soldier of my bodyguard who resembled me and had impersonated me before. But I could not bring myself to stay out of the fight. My double was killed, his head taken and sent to the Sultan as proof, but I also was fatally wounded. My trusty Szgany Drakul brought me back here and buried me in my tomb, from whence I arose three nights later.

"As a Vampire, I continued to lead the Black Court of Wallachia in harassing the Turks for many years. But when the time came to turn to other matters, I found myself drawn into Orloks' plans -the plans of a madman! Orloks' aim was to establish the Black Court as overlords of humanity just as the Source Vampires had been long ago.

"But we are not as our creators were, we have weaknesses they do not. Fatal allergies to specific plants and herbs, for instance -rosemary, garlic and rowan mainly. Most importantly, we are programmed to fear and avoid certain symbols."

"The sigils and crests of the Source clan you were bound to." Tesla said. "The thirst can cause berserker rage in battle, so you were genetically retro-programmed not to be able to attack your own allies and masters whatever your condition."

"Quite so." Dracula agreed. "the programming was predicated upon the fact that we were recruited from human stock belonging to, and bearing the mark of, the clan we were meant to fight for. The clans are gone, but the programming continues in a different fashion. No Vampire can approach an area, or attack a person, protected by the symbols of the religious faith he or she belonged to in life. To put it another way, I cannot approach a cross, but the Star of David, or the Crescent of Islam, are meaningless to me.

"In any event, these vulnerabilities, the numerical superiority and warlike nature of humans, not to mention that we would be opposed by both the White and Red Courts, made the plans dangerous at best. The inevitable involvement of the White Council in such a conflict rendered the outcome certain -the Black Court would have been destroyed.

"I was forced to confront Orlok. The resulting battle stripped him of most of his powers and confirmed me as his successor. Since then, I have endeavoured to protect my people -the Vampires of the Black Court – by diplomatic and other means."

"If I remember right, you weren't so diplomatic when you came to London in the 1800s." Rhodey commented.

"An error in judgement." Dracula waved a hand. "The Black Court in England had been significantly weakened by the loss of Sir Francis Varney, its former head. I went there with the aim of finding another leader. My pursuit of Miss Westenra was a prelude to my planned acquisition of Arthur Holmwood, later Lord Godalming. When Van Helsing frustrated that plan, I targeted Mrs Wilhelmina Harker, a woman of considerable ability. The mission was an eventual success, as Mina later assumed the role I chose her for, but it was costly. Not only was Van Helsing a genius in his way, but he was canny and ruthless, allowing me to approach Mina so that he might use her against me.

"Even so, I might have bested him had not his activities drawn the attention of another, even greater, intellect."

"Sherlock Holmes." Tesla supplied.

Dracula nodded again. "Holmes and his entire family." He allowed. "Sherlock himself, even aided by the formidable Dr Watson, I might have evaded. However, the added intervention of Mr Mycroft and Miss Sigrina Holmes forced me out of London to my bolt-hole in Whitby. Once there, of course, I came within the sights of the eldest of the clan. Sherrinford Holmes might have chosen to stay at home and run the family estate, but he was no less dangerous than his siblings. Once on the run, I was easy prey for Van Helsing and his gang. It took me some time to recover myself afterwards."

"I encountered Van Helsing some time later." Vastra remarked. "He took up monster hunting full-time after that, and chose to come after me."

"What did you make of him?" Dracula asked.

"A light lunch." Vastra told him.

Bruce Wayne wondered if he was the only one who had noticed that the liquid in Vastras' glass, like the Counts' was a slightly different shade from, and rather thicker than, the excellent local red the rest of them were enjoying.

"The vial of Source blood we are all seeking," the Count resumed, "belonged to Orlok, and was one of the things I took from him, sealing it with my own crest. Among Orloks' other schemes was a programme of research which he hoped would enable him to use the blood to become a true Source vampire. I fear now that his research continued after I defeated him, and that with the help of HYDRA, he now has the means to accomplish his aim."

"That can't happen!" Tesla said grimly. "I made the mistake of resurrecting a Source vampire once, I won't let it happen again! So what do we do, Agent Malfoy?"

"We get a good nights' sleep." Draco replied. "My people, at least, have had a long and busy day. We will need to be at our best to deal with HYDRA and this Orlok."

"Sensible." Dracula concurred. "I have already made certain...arrangements which cannot be completed before tomorrow. Then I have some information to share which I feel will be to our mutual advantage.

"Can I take it, Draco, that I may join you in this endeavour?"

"This is your territory, sir, and Count Orlok, as a member of your Court, is your responsibility." Draco replied. "I would not presume to proceed without at least your agreement. Your presence would be an asset I would welcome, as indeed would be those of Dr Tesla and Madame Vastra."

"Ken?" Dracula asked.

The big man, who had been quietly engulfing extraordinary amounts of food, looked up. "I'm in, Vlad." He rumbled. "I'm a peaceable sort, as you know, but I don't mind cracking a few heads in a good cause. You've had my back in the past, I've got yours now."

"Very well." Draco decided. "Then I suggest we finish this excellent meal with conversation of a more general nature, then spend some time relaxing before retiring and rising early. Tomorrow promises to be full of interest and excitement, ladies and gentlemen!"

van Roek and Orlok watched as the twelve HYDRA 'volunteers' were strapped to the beds. The Red Skull had demanded 'proof of concept' before using the techniques within a HYDRA base proper, so these troopers would be the first to receive Orloks' serum.

"Why the restraints?" van Roek asked. "You indicated that the subjects would be obedient after the change."

"After the change, they will be." Orlok replied. "The change usually takes place over seventy-two hours, during which the subject is in a state of deep coma. This formula brings about the change in twenty-four hours and in a lighter state of sedation. There may be convulsions. The restraints are to prevent the subjects from injuring themselves in the early stages and damaging other things in the later."

"Sensible." van Roek nodded. "Our only concern is whether or not SHIELD will attack before that time is up. There are currently no reinforcements available, Can these subjects be moved?"

"As long as they remain restrained and are not exposed to full daylight before the change is complete, then yes." Orlok told him. "But I now commend them to your care, Gruppenfuhrer. The time has come to make use of the reward HYDRA gave me for my help in this matter. When next we meet, I shall be renewed!"

Neither Silurians nor Source Vampires require sleep in quite the same way as humans. Tesla and Vastra had spent some time in bed to their mutual satisfaction, and both had napped a little. But when Vastra awoke to find Tesla gone, she had not been surprised. Slipping on her robe, she made her way to the library, meaning to explore the Counts' collection.

But part way down the stairs, she realised that two figures were ahead of her, heading for the main door. The lower hall light came on, and Vastra saw that one of the figures was Dracula. The other was a tall, stately woman in an evening gown and fur wrap. Vastra slipped into the shadow of an English long case clock that stood proudly on the landing. She did not know how much this woman might or might not know, and did not wish to reveal herself unnecessarily, or cause any distress. It would be impolite to her host.

The woman turned to the Count. She had a handsome, strong-boned face. Vastra, who didn't quite understand the human concept of ageing, guessed she might be in her late thirties or early forties. She and the Count spoke together in Romanian, then kissed in a way that was both passionate and familiar. He escorted her out of the door, and Vastra took the opportunity to slip into the library, hearing a car drive off as she did so.

She was inspecting the shelves when the Count came in. She turned to face him and he gave a small bow.

"Most people would not have heard me enter." He said. "My compliments, Madame Vastra, and my thanks for your discretion. Mathilde knows who and what I am, as do all the people of the village below. I am their _boyar_ , as I have always been. They look to me for protection, for advice, and to help them in their disputes with one another or with the outside world. In return, they supply my household with its daily needs. But they and she are unaware of the larger and stranger world we both move in."

"Quite so." Vastra replied. "But, and you must pardon my ignorance, I was not aware that your species consumed food in the normal, human, manner."

"Oh, we can, and many of us do." Dracula replied. "Though some of my people pride themselves on existing only on blood. Some even go so far as to take pride in only consuming human blood – a foolish and risky life-style that is, fortunately, becoming rare among us.

"To eat -to break bread – with someone, is one of the oldest and most hallowed of human traditions, and I was born a human. Besides that, it is a pleasurable and comforting activity. My Thralls require feeding, of course, and I entertain many guests in the way of business.

"Blood is a necessary part of my diet – I obtain sustenance from it in a way I no longer can from ordinary food."

"Pigs' blood." Vastra noted. "You served it to me as well as yourself at dinner. How did you know I preferred it to wine?"

Dracula gestured to the bookshelves. "You will find there many volumes of arcane lore, Madame. Among them are accounts of the so-called Serpent-men of Valusia, and the Dragon-Lords of Lemuria. Both appear to be groups of Silurians accidentally awakened before the set time. Some of your peoples' habits and preferences are known to me.

"As for Mathilde, she is a local widow who has been my mistress for some years now. It gives her status among the townsfolk and frees her from the need to marry again, a prospect she does not find pleasing."

"So you do not feed from her?" Vastra asked.

"Not exactly." The Count replied. "I can sustain myself indefinitely on animal blood. However, in order to keep my powers at their peak, I do require human blood from time to time. Call it a dietary supplement, if you will. Mathilde visits here twice a week or so, and once a a month, amongst our other activities, I take perhaps an ounce of blood. With her full permission and understanding. In return for this, when the time comes and if she wishes, I will make her one of us."

"An admirable arrangement." Vastra approved.

"Sensible people can always find one." Dracula noted. "But now I have matters to attend to against tomorrow. Please enjoy the library."

Nikola Tesla had made his way up to the observation platform with a pair of binoculars. He enjoyed looking at the stars and the clear mountain air, with no light pollution from nearby cities, offered a golden opportunity. When he got there, however, he found the giant form of Ken looking out over the mountains. Tesla was about to withdraw when Ken gestured him over.

"You're a scientist, Dr Tesla," he said, "and as such will be full of questions. Ask away, I've nothing to hide."

"So," Tesla said, "you're not what I expected."

"Ah!" Ken chuckled. "You were expecting a square head, bolts in the neck and inarticulate mumbling? That's the other one."

"Baron Frankenstein made two monsters?" Tesla asked.

"No." Ken replied. "Victor Frankenstein was no Baron, he was a German-Swiss doctor and research scientist. His father was a Syndic – mayor of a community – but he was no nobleman. He also never called me a monster – a 'creature', yes, but not a monster.

"And no, he didn't make me out of bits of corpses, either. Somehow – I don't know how because he burned his books – Victor stumbled across what you now call 'stem-cell' technology. I was grown, bit by bit, in tanks and flasks, then assembled. He did use electricity, but only to start my heart."

"But he was scared and disgusted by you, and abandoned you. That part I know." Tesla said.

"Looking back," Ken said, "it seems more as if all the stress and exhaustion finally got to him. He had a psychotic break. Me, I was just lost and clueless. But he'd given me a first-class intelligence and I learned fast. I eventually tracked him down, but by then he'd murdered his younger brother and framed the governess for it."

"Victor did the killing?" Tesla asked.

Ken nodded. "His brother, his friend Henri, and eventually his girlfriend, Elizabeth, on their wedding night. I got there too late. He always claimed it was I who was the killer, but by then he was completely delusional.

"He ran, I followed. I felt responsible for him. I finally caught up with him, but I was too late again. He'd been picked up by Waltons' expedition and died from exposure and exhaustion. Walton was nobodys' fool, and he was a veteran explorer and soldier. He'd seen worse faces than mine. We talked, I told him my side of the story and between us we doped out a tale that would preserve Victors' memory – he still had family out there – and make people think I was dead.

"I headed north, then hooked back south and ended up in Alaska. I lived among the Inuit for a while, then the Cree, then the Canadian lumberjacks. They didn't care about my face, just that fact that I was strong and willing to work.

"Later on I joined up with the Travelling folk and went all over the world with them. I met Vlad when I travelled with the Szgany Drakul for a while.

"Of course, as time went on, people – ordinary people – became more accepting of how I looked. The downside being that by the late 20th Century I couldn't do the carny freak shows any more -they'd been shut down – and there were fewer jobs that called for brute strength and isolation. And of course for every one person who really didn't care about my face, there was another who was all saccharine sympathy and two more who were still freaked out by me."

"But by that time, I suppose, you had the option of plastic surgery?" Tesla asked.

Ken nodded. "I thought money might be a problem, but a surgeon in LA wanted to try some new techniques, so he agreed to do the work for twenty-five per cent and a waiver. After that, well, I had some contacts – criminals, basically – who owed me enough to get me an identity. I went to college, studied business, and now I run a couple of import-export companies. Nothing big, but I do OK."

"What about 'the other one'?" Tesla wanted to know.

Ken chuckled. "Another story for another time, Professor." He said. "I need my beauty sleep, even if you don't."

The morning brought unexpected bustle, as several vehicles -resembling nothing so much as horse transporters - arrived at the Castle and were promptly shown through to the inner ward of the old building. They were joined at breakfast by a newcomer, a tall, slender man in his forties with fair hair and an easy smile. Dracula introduced him as Baron Helmut von Klorr.

"von Klorr?" Rhodey asked. "Excuse me, Baron, but I used to be a fighter pilot. Wasn't there a World War One German ace called von Klorr?"

The baron nodded. "My great-great-uncle. My great-grandfather inherited the title when he died without issue. His name was Maximilian, and the RFC pilots dubbed him Black Max. He flew a black triplane, you see. They say that was why von Richtofen painted his plane red, to differentiate one Baron from the other."

"He had a heck of a record, for a while." Rhodey noted. "But then he kinda disappeared."

Helmut's smile had a wry twist to it as he replied. "Baron Maximilians' war against the British was less patriotic than personal. He became obsessed with a couple of individuals who had both inflicted defeats on him, and took to unconventional – and by the familys' standards dishonourable – means to avenge himself. It became necessary to confine him, in the end."

"Shame." Rhodey commented. "He was a hell of a flier. Me, I wouldn't want to go up in one of those kites. I flew a Spitfire once, in England, and I was scared silly. Talk about flying by the seat of your pants!"

By now they had adjourned to the study, where Draco asked. "Agent Ramsay, what are we facing at Castle Orlok?"

Cypher shrugged. "It's got the mountain behind it, sheer drops to left and right, and one narrow trail up to the front, which is a killing ground. The only way to come at them is by air, and HYDRA know that. They've got SAMs set up on the inner and outer curtain walls and a railgun on the roof of the Keep. Given our planes' ECM and Stealth suites, the SAMs aren't a problem. The railgun might be, but those things can't be aimed or fired manually. If I can hack it, I can disable it. If I can't, we'll just have to take it out fast.

"The main problem will be getting boots on the ground. There's nowhere to land the plane, which means jumping. They don't have any mechs or heavy guns, but there are plenty of armed men in there. It's gonna be hot going in!

"On the plus side, I've already hacked most of their systems and can jam their comms any time. Every little helps."

"Thank you." Draco acknowledged. "Miss Rosenberg?"

"They've got no active magical defences." Willow stated. "There's magic in the place, old, deep magic, but it's been inactive for centuries. Like residual radiation, there's nothing that could go active. There's also a wizard there, only one. I think I recognise him, but I can't recall where from."

"So it seems our best hope lies in a heavy and sudden magical assault to pave the way for our muggle colleagues." Draco noted. "That remains a high-risk strategy without higher numbers, but there is no time to call for reinforcements from SHIELD or even UNIT."

"One moment, Draco," Dracula told him, "I have some local knowledge that may be of help. To the rear of Castle Orlok, in the side of the mountain which faces this castle, there is a small ledge, accessible only from the air. A tunnel opens onto that ledge -a tunnel known only to Graf Orlok and myself -which was intended as Orloks' escape route.

"Now, Orlok still knows about the tunnel, which leads directly into the dungeons of the castle, but I doubt if he has informed his HYDRA guests about it. More importantly, he does not know that I know of it. It should provide an excellent infiltration point."

He passed Draco a photograph of the ledge, taken from the air. Draco examined it.

"Hmm. The ledge is too small even for the Jumper. I could reach it by broom, and of course, War Machine could land there easily, but still..."

"That's why I'm here." Said Baron von Klorr. "Come, let me introduce you to my familys' prized bloodstock."

They went down into the bowels of the old castle.

"I can see why you don't live in this part any more, Count." Willow remarked.

Dracula nodded. "After the London Incident in the 19th Century, I spent very little time here." He said. "I travelled a good deal, and the 20th Century was a particularly turbulent time, no less for us than for humans. I was needed in many places. Then, of course, during the Cold War I was obliged to live incognito for many years. I didn't come back here until 1990 and the place was by then in severe disrepair and very unsafe. So I had the new house built.

"Most of the old structure has been made safe now, but there aren't many people with the skills to do a proper restoration on it. Maybe someday, I'm in no hurry."

By this time, they had moved away from the dressed stone walls into what was clearly a cave system. Ahead of them they heard sounds -human voices interspersed with chittering sounds and the occasional screech. There was also a smell, an animal odour. Draco noted that it wasn't foul or rank, but closer to the aroma of well-cared-for horses or hippogriffs.

Then they entered a large, sunlit cave and Bruce Wayne stopped in his tracks.

"Oh. My. God!" He said. "They're real! I thought they were a myth!"

Helmut smiled at him. "You are a a student?" He asked.

"Bats have been my hobby since I was a kid!" Bruce told him. He pointed to the dozen animals that roosted on sturdy, purpose-built frames set up on the cave floor. "Tell me I'm not seeing things! Those are _Megachiroptera Pteropus rex_ , the legendary King-Bat?"

"Indeed they are!" von Klorr replied proudly. "My family have been caring for and breeding them for millennia. They are, of course, presumed extinct elsewhere."

Bruce gave a short laugh. "Extinct! Most palaeontologists don't believe they ever existed. What little fossil evidence there is is ambiguous at best. A few teeth and a couple of finger-bones.

"Fruit-eaters, yes? Diurnal and they don't have echo-location?"

"Like the other flying foxes, yes." von Klorr was clearly enjoying showing off. "But they do have excellent colour vision..."

Leaving the two bat-fanatics to a conversation he guessed was going to run and run, Draco examined one of the bats more closely. He had, of course, learned to ride horses as a boy, and after an unfortunate early experience at school, had overcome his dislike of hippogriffs enough to learn to ride them as well.

The animal he was facing was easily big enough to carry a man on its back, and he judged its wingspan to be between fifteen and twenty feet. The fur was not as coarse as he imagined it would have been, a dark golden-brown on the head and belly, shading to a rich dark chestnut on the back, well-groomed and glossy. The wings were black and also glossy, clearly treated with some kind of oil to keep them in top condition. From out of the doglike face, with its' moist black nose, a pair of slightly bulbous reddish-brown eyes regarded him with considerable intelligence and curiosity. It extended its head toward him and chittered softly.

"He's looking for some fuss and a tidbit." A rough voice beside Draco said. He glanced round to see a stocky young man with a blunt face and short-cropped hair standing nearby. "There's apples in the crate beside you there. Offer him one and just drop it into his mouth when he opens it. That's it. Now scratch him under the chin and he's your friend for life!"

Draco did as directed, earning several pleased tongue-clicks from the bat. "A remarkable animal." He said. "What's his name?"

"Golden Brush," the young man replied, "out of Tisiphone by Hermodur. One of our best bred riding bats."

"Magnificent." Draco agreed. "And you are?"

"Josef Morg, assistant head groom." Morg replied. "The Morgs have worked for the von Klorrs for longer than anyone can remember. The family breed the bats, train them and exercise them. We feed them, groom them, stable them and look after them if they get sick."

"They seem amiable creatures, despite their fearsome appearance." Draco noted.

Morg nodded, but there was a sadness in his tone as he replied. "People have a thing about bats. Mostly because the little ones are night-creatures and have a bad reputation. These fellows wouldn't hurt a fly.

"That was why the family were so upset about Baron Maximilian. He trained some of the bats to kill, and that wasn't right. It drove them mad and they had to be destroyed. Very sad.

"But it looks like you've made a friend there, sir!"

"Indeed, Mr Morg." Draco smiled slightly as Golden Brush nuzzled him softly but insistently. "Another piece of fruit for our friend here, and then we should both get back to work. Thank you for your time, Mr Morg."

"Just 'Morg', sir." The groom replied. "It's always a pleasure to deal with a real gentleman."

Draco made his way over to where Dracula was waiting. Baron von Klorr and Agent Wayne were still deep in conversation and the Count was watching with some amusement.

"Ah, Draco," he said, "now do you see how we can get a small force into Castle Orlok?"

"I do indeed." Draco allowed. "I have, in fact, already formulated a plan. Shall we proceed?"


	6. Chapter 6

**From Durmstrang With Blood**

 **Chapter Six**

"Haupsturmfuhrer Darkholme, we have an intruder approaching the main gate." The HYDRA trooper was peering at his CCTV screen in apparent puzzlement.

"Intruder? As in singular? One man?" Raven was puzzled herself. "How did he evade the outer detection systems?"

"I don't know." Was the reply. "Let me enhance...oh! Haupsturmfuhrer, it's War Machine!"

Raven swore. "Railgun crew, can you realign for a ground shot?"

"Negative." Came the reply. "Railgun has just gone offline. We're trying to restart..."

Then every alarm in the place went off. Raven could only watch as the big SHIELD plane came in low and fast, slaloming through the peaks and loosing a single missile aimed at the Keeps' roof. There was a scream of static on the railgun channel, then nothing. The plane swept round for another run, punching out flares and blanking every radar in the place. The SAM batteries responded, sending out a swarm of missiles that went everywhere except the target.

"Dammit!" Raven said. "All units, fall back to the Keep!" It was the only choice. The ten-foot-thick granite walls gave more than adequate protection against anything the plane could launch – unless it had nukes. The weak point was the gate, and Raven ordered the heaviest squads she had to the battlements above it. They were unlikely to stop War Machine, but they might slow him down long enough to evacuate.

"van Roek, are you getting all this?" She demanded.

"Affirmative." The South African wizard replied. "Get all the men you can spare down here so we can move the samples out. I'll signal you when you're clear to pull out."

van Roek had just finished talking with Raven when a different alarm sounded. A high warble from the computers.

"Ah, crap!" Exclaimed the head tech. "Sir, we've been hacked! Somebody put a virus into our system!"

"Stealing the data?" van Roek asked.

"No." The tech said. "Destroying it. Wiping it clean off the hard drives, the cloud, the deep web, everywhere we've backed it up except your flash drive, and that's not up to date."

"Did we upload to HYDRA Central?" van Roek asked.

The tech shook his head. "Orders were not to until we had everything and they'd checked it. Seems they didn't trust Orlok."

"Who was in charge of computer security?" van Roek demanded.

"That would be me, sir." The tech admitted.

Van Roek pointed his wand. " _Avada Kedavra!_ " He barked, then turned away as the body crumpled to confront another figure.

Graf Orlok now stood to his full height, almost seven feet. The once pale eyes were now inky black and long black claws extended from the tips of his fingers. Power seemed to flow out of him and his voice was rich and deep.

"You appear to be under attack." He observed.

" _We_ are under attack." van Roek replied.

Orlok chuckled. "I doubt SHIELD even knows of my existence." He noted. "They've come for you, van Roek." He gestured to the observation window that overlooked the main lab. "Perhaps you should deploy your new soldiers?"

"Are they ready?" The South African asked.

Orlok nodded. "They are merely awaiting orders."

van Roek stepped up to the intercom. "Take off the restraints!" He ordered.

He watched as the medical staff, in efficient unison, released the experimental subjects. Watched as the first one opened gleaming red eyes, grinned with a mouth full of white fangs, and tore the throat out of the nurse who bent over him. Within seconds the lab was a shambles, the medical staff ripped apart, along with the two guards stationed there, but not before the grizzled guard sergeant had decapitated one of the berserk vampires with a shotgun blast.

Graf Orlok was laughing and laughing. "Hail HYDRA!" He chortled. "Mighty, clever, indomitable HYDRA. Cunning HYDRA who thought to take advantage of a bitter old mans' thirst for revenge to further their own petty plans!

"Did you truly think that I, Graf Orlok, rightful Lord of the Black Court, would allow mortals unfettered access to the secrets of the Source? All you have done is showed me the way to create more and better Vampire Thralls. Everything stored on your precious machines is also stored here." He tapped his temple. "My own blood is now Source blood. Now I can restore the world to rights, with Vampires as the masters and humans as the cattle they were meant to be.

"You, van Roek. Clever, ruthless, cruel, brutal van Roek. You will become the first of a new breed of wizard Thralls. A most singular honour!"

"I already have a job." van Roek pointed out, unleashing a killing curse that Orlok swept aside with a gesture. Then suddenly he hesitated, his head tilted as though listening.

"No!" He said as if to himself. "He would not dare! Not even he! Oh, I will have my vengeance now!"

With that, he was gone, dissolving into mist that swept away as if driven by a gale.

Van Roek wasted no time. "Attention!" He broadcasted on Command Frequency. "Orlok has betrayed us. The subjects are now Vampire berserkers, engage on sight, use flame or aim for the head. Priority is to get the frozen samples out and back to Central. Hold off SHIELD forces at all costs until this is done!"

He set off for the secondary lab, where litres of frozen, cloned Source blood were being readied for transport. With that, and the contents of the flash drive he carried, HYDRA might yet have its vampiric super-soldiers.

It was not so much a saddle, Draco noted, as a padded rest secured to the bats' back. One did not sit upright, but lay prone, to reduce wind resistance. There were loops to rest your feet, and a kind of bridle with reins, though the beasts were as intelligent as horses, if not more so, and responded to simple verbal commands with alacrity. The reins, it seemed, were only there for situations when spoken commands might not be audible or safe.

Accustomed as he had to seeing the small bats flittering about apparently at random around Malfoy Manor or Hogwarts as a boy, Draco was at first surprised by this straight, even flight. But of course, these bats were not hunting insects by radar. Golden Brush had seemed enthusiastic about the prospect of carrying Draco on this flight. "He missed his exercise today." Morg explained. "Also, you're somebody new, and he likes to show off."

The experience was very different from broom flying, and rather more pleasant than riding a hippogriff. Apart from a residual dislike of the beasts, Draco could never get used to the clinging, carnivore stench of hippogriffs. Golden Brush smelt more like a horse, pungent but not rank, with added notes of sweetness from his fruit diet and leather from his wings.

But enjoyable as it was, they were on a job here. Dracos' eyes narrowed as he sighted the ledge and he urged Golden Brush down. He dismounted, and the great bat nuzzled him for a chin scratch before taking off again. All the bats were well-trained, letting their riders off two by two so as not to crowd the ledge, then taking off again to wait where Baron von Klorr orbited on his personal beast - a noble-looking black named Mordor.

"Call me if you need picking up from here!" He shouted, before wheeling off and leading his herd back toward Castle Dracula.

"Well, that was...different!" Remarked Agent Kent.

"Not much on flying?" Ken asked.

"Oh, I'm fine flying." Clark explained. "I was a Navy SEAL before I joined SHIELD, so I've flown in everything from the SHIELD heli-carrier to a hang-glider or a wingsuit. But I've never ridden an animal before. Weight problems, extra mass."

"Know what you mean." Ken allowed. "I'm too big to ride anything short of an elephant, usually. Tried a giraffe once, but it wasn't too friendly."

"Reminisce later, gentlemen." Draco said. "Now, War Machine and the aircraft should be making their assaults fairly soon. This should cause a certain amount of running about inside, but as per the plan, neither will press the attack home until ordered. Our aim is to get HYDRA to evacuate, as this will mean they must move their assets out of secure areas.

"Agent Kent, Mlle Delacour, our targets are any supplies of Source blood, any test subjects and any other samples. Orders from Director Rogers are that these, along with any paper files, discs or flash drives, are to be destroyed completely. In particular, any organic specimens are to be incinerated. We move fast, we move discreetly, we engage only when and if necessary. We must not get bogged down in prolonged fire-fights. If we encounter HYDRA operatives who are evacuating, we are to let them flee unless they insist on fighting.

"This is about the Source blood and any research and samples pertaining to it, nothing else. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, Boss." Kent affirmed. Gabrielle simply nodded.

"I take it, Count, that you have different objectives?" Draco asked.

Dracula nodded. "Sun should be down soon, and I'll be at full power. Ken, Dr Tesla, Madame Vastra and I will deal with Orlok. You have my word that we will follow your orders in regard to Source blood and research materials. Won't we, Nikola?"

Under Vastras' steady gaze. Tesla muttered to himself for a moment or two, then reluctantly nodded.

"Then let us proceed." Draco said.

The narrow, winding passage through the mountain emerged behind a weapon rack in what was clearly a disused armoury. The place was piled high with rusted pikes, corroded swords and the rotting remnants of maces, axes and crossbows. There were even the remains of armour half-hanging on stands.

"Must have had a regular army here at one time!" Clark commented.

"Such was the duty of a _boyar_ in my youth." Dracula commented. "The armouries of my castle contain much more up-to-date equipment."

Then suddenly, both he and Tesla froze, eyes wide with alarm.

"Oh, shit!" Tesla said. "He did it! Come here, Vlad." As he spoke, he was transforming into his vampire form. Now he slashed a long, shallow cut across one palm with his claws.

"Orlok's used the Source blood." He explained. "He's now, partially at least, a Source Vampire. Which means he can Command any Unbonded Black Court Vampire. I'm part Source myself, so he can't Command me, and I can't Command any other Vampire. But if I Bond you to me, Vlad, it means that Orlok won't be able to Command you any more than I can!"

Dracula nodded, and opened a similar cut on his own palm with his sharp nails. The two clasped hands. "Done and done!" Dracula said. "But this does mean that each of us will now know what the other is up to, Nikola. I promise not to peek."

"Peek away." Tesla replied. "You may learn something! Now, what about you two?" He turned to Vastra and Ken.

Vastra smiled. "My people have history with the Source Vampires." She told him. "It didn't end well...for them! Silurians cannot be Commanded, fascinated or hypnotised."

"As for me," Ken put in, "I'm proof against almost any kind of mind-control. My brain doesn't work quite like other peoples'"

"I'd noticed that." Dracula said. "But I didn't want to say anything..."

"Thanks for your support." Ken replied. "I'll wear it every day."

It was at that point that the alarms went off. "Our cue, I believe." Draco said. "Good luck, everyone. Move out."

 _These Brits just love their understatements!_ Clark Kent mused, noting that 'a certain amount of running about' was obviously Dracos' way of describing blind panic. But something was off here. Yes, an attack by a War Machine unit, supported with air power, should cause consternation, even to HYDRA. But here there were seasoned troops tearing about, yelling contradictory orders in at least three different languages, and usually, but not always, stopping just short of taking pot-shots at their own men. The only enemy operative who had even noticed the three figures in SHIELD gear had stared at them for a moment, then yelled at them: "Get the Hell out of here! They'll kill all of us!"

Clark was wondering just who 'they' were, when he got his answer. A figure in grey coveralls leapt out of a side room with a feral snarl and grabbed him with superhuman strength, fastening needle-sharp fangs on his throat.

But Clark Kent was not human. Under his tough artificial skin was a layer of hyper-dense muscle, a combination which foiled the fangs long enough for him to counter-attack. Black Court Vampires are the strongest of the Vampire breeds, but Clark came from a race that had evolved under five times Earth gravity, and had grown up in an environment that mimicked his homeworld exactly. He broke the creatures' grip almost effortlessly, snapped its neck with a savage twist and tossed it to the floor.

The man – it had been a man, once - glared at them, head twisted unnaturally on its shoulders, fangs still champing. The body twitched and jerked as if the nerves and muscles still sought to obey the brain.

" _Mon Dieu_!" Gabrielle breathed. "It is healing!"

Draco incinerated it with a flick of his wand. "An experiment gone wrong." He surmised. "That goes some way to explaining the excessive reaction of our colleagues from HYDRA. Proceed with caution."

They found three more of the grey-clad monsters as they proceeded. One had clearly been caught in a flamethrower blast, and was burning like a torch even as it staggered blindly along. Another had been impaled on the wooden panels of the wall by an antique halberd, Gabrielle burned it. Finally, they entered what had clearly been a major lab, to find another messily decapitated by what was probably a shotgun blast.

While Draco disposed of the remains, Clark consulted his tablet. Dracula had provided floor plans of Castle Orlok, which Cypher had overlaid with the results of his scans.

"OK." He announced. "If Cypher got it right, there's a room a the end of that corridor that has a lot of cryogenic equipment in it. I'd guess that's where they keep the specimens. The only other exit from there leads up into a tower room. So unless they already got out, we've got them!"

"Or somebody else has." Gabrielle said grimly. "There are twelve beds here. Which implies twelve experimental subjects. We've seen four. That means there may be eight more loose in this place."

"Agent Ramsay seldom if ever gets things wrong." Draco stated. "And your deductions, Mlle Delacourt, are seldom flawed, any more than is Agent Kents' tactical sense. This does not present a pleasing scenario, but, as someone once said, if one cannot take a joke, one should not have joined. Follow me."

There were four grey-clad Vampires howling and beating at the door at the end of the corridor. It was a sturdy metal portal, but it was clear that the unremitting assault of these superhuman berserkers was on the point of bringing it down. A hail of incendiary ammunition from a SHIELD sidearm and two wands reduced the attackers to ashes before they even realised anyone was behind them. Clark completed the demolition of the door and the three charged through.

Half a dozen techs were cowering in a corner while one trooper stood, clutching a sub-machine gun and pale as death, in the middle of the room. Clark levelled his sidearm.

"Just don't." He said quietly.

The HYDRA soldier looked at the three facing him, and clearly thought better of it, carefully setting his weapon down and stepping back from it.

"Sensible fellow." Draco commented. "Now I'm sure you've all had a very bad day so far, and unless you wish me to make it even worse, I urge you to be as forthcoming as possible." He indicated a nearby trolley, loaded with gleaming metal flasks. "I take it these are some of the results of your work here. Is this all of it?"

"Most of it." One of the techs replied. "There are still some tissue samples up in the tower room."

"I see." Draco nodded. "And are there any files or offline storage devices containing research data?"

The trooper shook his head. "Your hacker got all of it, except the Gruppenfuhrers' flash drive."

"Where would this Gruppenfuhrer be?" Draco asked.

"In the tower," was the reply, "he went to get the samples."

"Very well." Draco said. "Now I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with you any further, so kindly make yourselves scarce."

The HYDRA people exchanged puzzled looks. Some began to shuffle hesitantly toward the door.

" _FUCK OFF!_ " Draco bellowed, and they ran for it. Gabrielle dissolved into giggles on the spot. Clark merely raised an eyebrow, very little the Boss said or did could surprise him any more.

"Right." Draco said coolly. "Agent Kent, would you guard the doors? Mlle Delacourt, when you have successfully delivered the litter of kittens you appear to be having, would you be so good as to destroy everything on that cart? Thank you. I will go upstairs and deal with this Gruppenfuhrer."

"You gonna be OK, Boss?" Clark asked. "Want me to come with?"

"No thank you, Kent, you are better placed here in case I do come to grief. If anyone except myself comes down those stairs, kill them. And do not feel obliged to be too quick about it." Draco smiled quietly, then went up the stairs.

Piet van Roek was not looking forward to the inevitable interview with the Red Skull. This, apparently simple, task had turned into a complete debacle! Outwitted by Orlok, caught by SHIELD, and liable to be punished, severely, by muggles, whatever the outcome. He must salvage something.

Well, those fools below knew enough to get the blood samples onto the cart, ready to leave. Those, the tissue samples he was here to collect, and his flash drive would give them enough for HYDRA scientists to complete the programme. The Vampire Berserkers would be no match for his magic, and Orlok clearly had other business to take care of.

Which only left the most pressing problem. How to lay the blame for all this squarely on Raven Darkholme? Well, she had clearly failed to act promptly to get rid of the SHIELD team, and had indeed sabotaged his own attempt to do so. As officer in charge of security, and a supposed expert in espionage, she should have anticipated and prevented Orloks' betrayal. And she had failed to prevent a SHIELD attack. Done, then!

It was at that point that the two Vampires came in through the tower windows. They must have scaled the rough walls outside – childs' play for creatures like these. Fireballs made short work of them. Unfortunately, they also made short work of the precious tissue samples.

Swearing may have relieved van Roeks' feelings, but it wouldn't restore what was lost, and there was no way to blame this on Darkholme. This was the final straw!

"You will face me, sir!" The dry, cold, English tones froze van Roek to the marrow with fear and rage. Not the final straw, then!

He turned fast, barking " _Expelliarmus!_ "

Dracos' wand flew from his hand to clatter on the floor behind van Roek.

"Malfoy!" He snarled. "It had to be you!"

"Mynheer van Roek." Draco noted. "You are in danger of becoming a positive bore. Tell me, have you tried dittany for that scar?"

"I have." Replied the South African bitterly. "It didn't work. Perhaps your death will achieve what it couldn't."

"Perhaps, but I doubt you'll outlive me long enough to enjoy it." Draco told him. "Your samples and research are gone beyond recall. I am aware that the Red Skull does not look kindly upon failure."

van Roek reached into his pocket and drew out the flash drive, holding it up in front of Draco. "Oh, I think the data on this will save my life, don't you?" He sneered.

"Thank you." Draco replied.

Piet van Roek was not the first enemy to be taken in by Dracos' languid air. Nor had he expected a wizard to carry a firearm. The English aristocrat drew and fired faster and straighter than any Old West gunfighter. The heavy calibre, hollow-point slug tore van Roeks' hand off at the wrist and shattered the flash drive. The HYDRA wizard howled in rage and agony, then disapparated.

Draco went to retrieve his wand. "It seems as if I'm going to have to kill that man on the instalment plan." He murmured to himself. "How very tedious!"

Guided by Dracula's knowledge of the castle, along with his and Teslas' instinctive awareness of Orloks' location, the Black Court party made their way deeper into the bowels of the mountain. All of the party could see in the dark, so torches were not necessary.

"These are man-made tunnels and chambers." Tesla commented. "But they pre-date the castle by millennia, at least."

"Source Vampires." Dracula told him. "The Gou'a'ould never got this far north in strength, but the Olympian faction was based in Greece -too close for comfort – until Kratos the Spartan defeated them."

"These aren't just defensive structures, though." Vastra remarked. "There's an altar here."

"To the Magna Mater, the dark aspect of the Mother." Ken noted, then to Vastras' glance. "I _can_ read, you know!"

"It was not the fact of your reading that surprised me," she told him, "but the apparent breadth of it."

"Is it me," Tesla asked, "or is it getting warm down here?"

"Not many people realise that parts of this region are still volcanically active." Dracula explained. "There are pools and lakes of magma to be found, if you know where to look."

This fact became apparent as an orange-red glow appeared at the end of a long passage which finally opened into a large, low-ceilinged chamber. The rear quarter of the cave was taken up by a large crevasse, from which came the orange-red light, a blast of heat, and the hissing moil of lava. Around the room were scattered ancient weapons, blacksmithing tools and an anvil.

"Your friend Orlok wouldn't be planning on forging a Ring of Power, would he?" Tesla asked.

"I would not," Dracula stated, "put it past him to try!"

"I had not considered it." This was a new voice, deep, rich but oddly disturbing. "But now you have given me the idea, Vlad, I will look into it."

Then Orlok was there, between them and the crevasse, flanked by two grey-clad Berserker Thralls who strained against their invisible restraints, gnashing their fanged mouths and glaring redly.

"You're looking well, old friend." Dracula said. "Been on the little blue pills, have we?"

Orlok laughed. "You have Bonded yourself to this half-breed, Vlad? Clever, very clever. But still, I would not lose you, or him. Name yourself, half-breed, pledge yourself to me and bring the Son of the Dragon with you. Together, we will remake the world!"

"You would not believe how often I've heard that." Tesla replied. "And you know, it never ends well. I'll pass, I think. No offence."

Orlok gave a hiss of contempt, then turned to Vastra. "And what of you, Warrior-Lady of the noble Silurian people? Your folk and mine fought often, in the past, but times have changed. An alliance between a new race of Source Vampires and the Silurians would surely place the hated apes in their rightful place!"

Vastra smiled and shook her head. "Most of my people still sleep, Orlok. Those that are awake are finding that humans have evolved beyond anything we might have imagined. When we all awake, they will be ready to welcome us in peace. We can, after all, live where they cannot, and vice-versa. And under the skin, we are not so very different."

"You are naïve." Orlok told her. "Humans are nothing but dim-witted cattle. I have already outwitted your dreaded Red Skull – others shall fall as easily."

Dracula sighed. "Orlok, don't be an idiot. HYDRA will not forgive this, or forget it. They will come after you, with weapons and power you can't imagine. We can protect you, and you have much to offer, not only to our people, but to the whole Earth."

"Our Earth!" Orlok snarled. "Our birthright, Vlad! Will you surrender it so lightly?"

"A burden of that weight, I'd give up with joy." Dracula told him. "You never learned that to rule is to serve, Orlok."

"Then you will die!" Orlok howled, and unleashed his thralls.

Of course, nobody had been talking for talkings' sake. During the conversation, the party had quietly and subtly spread out, so that now Orlok faced not one tight group, but four widely-spaced assailants.

His thralls bounded to the flanks, to face Vastra on one side and Ken on the other. Vastras' blades moved in platinum blurs, slicing her attacker into sections in seconds. Ken, with the advantage in height and reach, simply seized his opponent, lifted it, broke its back and hurled it from him. The thrall hit the polished stone floor with a sodden thump, slid a few feet, and vanished over the edge of the crevasse into the magma.

Orlok hurled a bolt of ebon, life-sapping energy at Dracula, who dodged in a blur. Tesla tried to close, but was thrown back by a telekinetic blast. Then Orlok drew himself up, and an aura of blue flame surrounded him. He might not be able to Command anyone here, but as a Source Vampire he still wielded the power of raw fear. He would paralyse these worms with terror, and slay them, one by one, at his leisure.

It might have worked, with other enemies. But everyone here had seen and done far too much to completely fall victim to simple fear. With a mighty effort of will, Tesla used his magnetic powers to hurl the heavy anvil at Orlok. The old Vampires' telekinetic powers stopped it short, but it still penetrated the curtain of flame, and with the affinity of iron for old magic, sucked away the power like a sponge before falling at Orloks' feet.

Ken, moving with a speed that belied his size, had got behind Orlok and now seized him, pinning his arms to his sides and lifting him from the ground.

"I don't know how long I can hold him!" He shouted.

Vastra was already there, her long tongue shooting out to inject her venom into Orloks' neck. He yelled in pain and anger, and used the force of his mind to send the Silurian half-flying, half-sliding over the edge of the crevasse. She hung there by one hand, seeking for something to hold onto before she lost her grip.

Ken hurled Orlok to the floor and darted to the edge, flinging himself flat and reaching down one long arm to grasp Vastras' free one. Effortlessly, he began to pull her up.

Orlok raised himself to his knees, then pitched forward again, clutching at his chest and howling in pain. When he staggered upright, his eyes were no longer black, but their old pale colour.

"He's just a vampire now!" Vastra called over Kens' shoulder. "Take him down!"

Dracula caught up a long spear from the floor. For a moment, he was no longer Count Dracula, Lord of the Undead, Master of the Black Court. Just for now, he was once more Voevode Vlad Drakul, Prince of Wallachia, war-leader of the valiant Szekely people. He aimed, drew back and threw with a single motion born of long practice and many battles. The spear slammed through Orloks' chest, piercing his heart and drawing a thin wail of agony.

Tesla moved fast, catching the shaft of the spear and employing the Vampire strength he so rarely used. He lifted the already crumbling corpse on the end of the spear and pitched it down into the magma, placing Orlok beyond any hope of resurrection.

"Well, that's that!" He said. "How did you do that, Vastra?"

"That's why the Source Vampires never defeated us." Vastra told him. "Our venom doesn't kill them, but it strips away the genetic enhancements that make them superior to other Vampires. You see, they weren't the first, they evolved from creatures much like modern Black Court Vampires, but who were born as Vampires. Whether they evolved naturally or were genetically engineered, we never found out. But our venom acts on them like a retro-virus that rewrites their DNA into the old form."

"You might have mentioned this before." Dracula noted.

Vastra grinned, and seemed to be quoting someone as she said simply "Spoilers."

Ken was looking around. "Shouldn't this place be erupting and coming down around our ears?" He asked.

"Why?" Tesla asked.

"It's what happens in the movies." Ken said.

"This place stood long before Orlok came here." Dracula explained. "It's not tied up with him in some magical way, any more than my castle is to me. I doubt that HYDRA had the time, or went to the trouble, to install a self-destruct module, even if Orlok would have let them."

Just then, the comm-links went live. "Count?" Came Dracos' voice. "Have you made progress?"

"Indeed we have, Draco." Dracula replied. "Orlok is ashes. We are all well."

"Excellent!" Draco answered. "All specimens and research have been destroyed at this end. I suggest you summon Baron von Klorr to meet us as agreed.

"Agent Rhodes, would you be so good as to come in through the front and clear out any remaining HYDRA personnel? Peacefully if possible, they've been through quite enough today, and I'd like them to know that SHIELD is different from HYDRA, every little helps.

"Count, I hope we can impose on your hospitality for a little longer? I find myself in dire need of a cup of tea, and perhaps some of those excellent smoked salmon sandwiches?"

It had been obvious to Raven that War Machine had no intention of pressing his attack. He had patrolled outside the main door of the Keep, taking the odd pot-shot to keep the defence honest, but had made no attempt to force an entry, something he could have done effortlessly.

On the other hand, the garbled, panicked chatter on the comm-link indicated that all Hell was breaking loose inside. Among other things, Raven gathered that a small SHIELD team had somehow infiltrated the castle. She was not surprised – SHIELD teams received regular training from Wolverine, and the former X-Man turned Avenger was a past master of the art.

Raven kept her men where they were, at first. They were, ironically, safer facing an oddly passive War Machine than trying to evacuate through the mayhem within. Then two things happened. Firstly, the stream of vituperation, threats and impossible orders emanating from van Roek suddenly stopped. Raven took that to mean that he was either dead or fled. Probably the latter, she thought, having some respect for the South Africans' viciousness, but less for his courage or loyalty to his men. Then a scared but relieved HYDRA trooper reported that a SHIELD squad had seized the samples of Source blood, but had ordered him and the techs to evacuate.

That, along with the gradual comms silence that fell, persuaded Raven that it was time to let her men go. She ordered them to pack up and evacuate by the safest route. Then she waited. As she expected, War Machine suddenly advanced purposefully toward the door. She went down to meet him.

Rhodey advanced through the wreckage of the great doors to find a single figure facing him. A figure how carefully held up her weapon before dropping it on the floor and kicking it toward him.

"Mystique." He said. "You're giving up easily."

"Am I?" She asked. "Your infiltration team has done its' job, everyone else has left, am I going to take you on single-handed?"

"So why not run yourself?" He asked.

Raven sighed. "Do you have a name behind that helmet?" She asked.

"Agent Rhodes." He told her.

"Well, Agent Rhodes, let me explain. Recently, I ran afoul of a pack of _wesen_. Long story, but they practically tore me apart. HYDRA medics saved me, but they gave me a cybernetic heart. All very nice, except that every six months, I have to report personally to the Red Skull, so that he can input a code only he knows into the hearts' computer. Otherwise, it will stop."

"So they own you." Rhodey said.

"They do not!" She gritted. "I still have one choice. Not to go. To let my heart stop. To die because I choose to."

"Y'know," Rhodey jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "there's a dude up in that plane who could hack that heart of yours and free it up forever."

"You're talking about Cypher?" She nodded. "I recognised his handiwork when our systems were hacked. Doug could do it, and he'd do it out of the kindness of his heart. But SHIELD, they'd want their pound of flesh, wouldn't they?

"I'm sorry, Agent Rhodes, I know you mean well, but I've had enough. I'm over 150 years old, and unlike dear Logan, I remember every day of it. I've buried two sons and more lovers than I care to count. I've seen the Daleks and the Cybermen make everything I've fought for meaningless. Who cares about Mutant supremacy when every hand and power is needed to defend the planet?

"So, no, I'm done. Mystique is done. There's just an old, old woman called Raven who only wants to go somewhere quiet and beautiful and make peace with herself before she dies.

"Will you let me do that, Agent Rhodes?"

"I got orders to sweep this castle for HYDRA troops and anything else left behind." Rhodey said. "Don't be here when I get back."

"Thank you." She said.

Rhodey turned back to watch her, before he ventured deeper into the castle. She held herself upright, and walked with a long, swinging stride. But for all that, she looked somehow forlorn.


	7. Epilogue

**From Durmstrang With Blood**

 **Epilogue**

"Uncle Steve" was a favoured dinner guest at the Malfoy household. Both Scorpius and Astoria enjoyed his 'tall tales' and unforced geniality, and Draco trusted his Director not to be indiscreet regarding his own role. Not that Astoria was unaware of her husbands' penchant for placing himself in harms' way, but it was better that Scorpius should not know exactly what Dad did. Not yet.

Given that Colonel Rogers was a special guest, Scorpius was allowed to stay up a little later than usual, but bedtime came eventually. Astoria and Draco got him tucked in, storied and kissed, then went back down. Steve had been sitting with his date, Susan Storm Richards, widow of the late Reed Richards and co-director of the Xavier Institute for Specialist Training. These two had been discreetly seeing each other for a few months, and the Malfoy home was one of a few places where this 'celebrity couple' could go without the risk of it ending up all over the tabloids.

"Come on, Sue, time for some girl talk!" Astoria announced. "I need somebody to update me on the latest muggle fashions. Besides, I dare say this pair want to sink a few on the QT!"

"Really, my dear!" Draco protested. "All I wish is for Colonel Rogers to give me his opinion on my latest purchase in the way of Madeira."

"As long as it's not too full an opinion!" Sue warned.

When they were alone, and Draco had charged their glasses, Steve grinned at him.

"Heck of a job over in Romania, Draco!" He said. "But you've given me a headache or two."

"How so?" Draco asked. "I did all you asked."

"That's the problem!" Steve chuckled. "There are those in the...ah... _community_ , who feel it was your duty to save all that valuable stuff for them to study. They're giving me a hard time about it." He sighed. "Back in the day, it was all so easy. The Nazis were the bad guys – and they were – and we were the good guys.

"But when they woke me up again, it had all gotten complicated. It got so I couldn't tell who was who any more. Did you know, I even stopped being Captain America for a while? It was just after Watergate, and I was convinced the country was utterly corrupt. So I made myself a new uniform, and called myself Nomad – the man without a country. Then later I decided that Captain America should stand for Americas' ideals, not her current state.

"But I still had to deal with people who – although they loved the country – fought for it in ways I couldn't approve of. That's why the Avengers were so important to me. By the time we got involved, it was all simple again."

"But now you're Director of SHIELD." Draco said. "That's surely a political post?"

"Yes, but it's my organisation!" Steve said. "When Nick Fury set up SHIELD, he made sure that our charter gave the Director a lot of independence. The Joint Chiefs and SecDef don't like it, but there's nothing they can do. I decided that research was too dangerous, and I ordered you to destroy it. I stand by that, and I stand by you, pal."

He raised his glass. "To independence. To SHIELD. And to kicking ass!"

"Wherever we should discover it requires kicking!" Draco responded.

Piet van Roek flexed his new hand. No civilian latex model, this, but a gunmetal-grey appendage which incorporated several features of HYDRAs' notorious Satan Claw. At least this meant that he was still in good odour with the man opposite him.

The Red Skull looked up from the report he had been perusing.

"Another failure." He noted. "Though only your second, and you make a convincing case for laying much of it at the door of Raven Darkholme. She is, of course, AWOL, but I trust that her instinct for survival will bring her back in due course.

"However, there are changes to be made. Specifically, the formation of a new branch of HYDRA, one devoted to magic and the wizard world. A branch in which I expect you to play a leading role, Herr Standartenfuhrer!"

"I am being demoted?" van Roek tried hard not to let his anger show.

"You cannot expect promotion for failure!" The Skull snapped. "You will be working under one of our rising wizard stars." He turned to one side. "Come in, Obergruppenfuhrer."

The uniformed man who entered was in his thirties, with a husky build and wiry hair.

"Standartenfuhrer van Roek," he said, "I look forward to working with you. My name is Cormac McLaggen. Hail HYDRA!"

Raven Darkholme had had four months to live when she left Romania. It had taken her another month to find this tiny Pacific island and settle in. The hut she had found had belonged to a zoologist studying the local wildlife, who had gone home when his grant ran out. It had been simple enough to put it in repair, and her own wants were few; fish from the sea, fruit from the trees and the many books stored on her personal tablet.

There was a fishing village a mile or so away, the people there were friendly but shy, and left her alone. She spent all of her time in her natural form and most days didn't bother to get dressed because her skin was proof against sunburn. If local teenage boys wanted to sneak across and take a look at a naked blue woman, they were welcome, as long as they stayed hidden.

Once the few tasks for the day were done, Raven could spend her time as she wished, for the first time in far too many years. She re-read some old favourites. She watched the birds and the animals, sitting still for hours until they learned to ignore her presence. But mostly she thought and remembered.

It had been a long life, and much of it full of things she was no longer proud of. But the fact of her imminent death allowed her to see herself in a larger context. She was what her 19th Century upbringing had made her. Her mistake had been in failing to move with the times she lived in. She had deliberately made herself blind to the changes taking place in ordinary people. Their increasing acceptance of the unusual, the different. The changing role and status of women. The readiness to accept deformity and disability as issues to be dealt with, rather than problems to be hidden away. The acceptance of gay and transgender people. All this should have given her a clue that Xavier was right, that Mutants would one day be accepted for themselves. Even Erik had come to realise this. Only she had stubbornly clung to the lessons her damaged childhood had taught her.

That struggle had cost her two sons. Graydon Creed, her son with Victor Creed – Sabretooth – had been a normal human who had grown to hate his Mutant parents. As a prominent politician and anti-Mutant campaigner, he had died at her own hands. Then there was poor Kurt, child of an illicit affair with the Mutant Azazel, whose birth had forced her to murder her then husband and flee, abandoning the baby to a Roma family. Kurt Wagner had become a peerless circus acrobat, before joining the X-Men as Nightcrawler. He had died in 2008, a victim of the Daleks, in a battle Raven had fled from. Not, she now admitted, because she refused to fight for humanity, but because of all the creatures she had ever seen, the Daleks were the only ones she truly feared.

Then there were more pleasant thoughts. Tender moments shared with many lovers, from her first, Irene Adler, to the last, a young HYDRA lieutenant who, among all her sensuous guises, had preferred her blue-skinned, yellow-eyed self. She even looked back with wistful amusement at her repeated failure to seduce Wolverine. The one man worthy to be her mate, the one who could match or surpass her in almost every way, had been the one man immune to her charms. _That's life_. She concluded.

Raven was old, tired and ready to let go. But the sound of screams and the glow of a large fire one night had her up and dressed before she realised it. Something was wrong in the village! There was no reason, no justification, for not going to help, so she set off down the track at a fast lope.

But she had relaxed too much, her guard was down and something was on her before she sensed it. The arms that clamped round her were inhumanly strong, and felt like metal. For one moment, she thought that the Avengers had come for her, that she was in the grip of Colossus. Then another shape loomed out of the darkness, its silver skin touched with gold by the distant fire.

"This one has already been partially upgraded." The Cyberman noted in a toneless voice. "But the upgrade is substandard. It will be replaced." It reached out and snapped a metal collar around her neck. Then Raven could only watch herself obey.

They marched her and the surviving villagers (the young, strong and healthy) onto a metal vessel which took them to another island. Larger, rockier, more rugged. They sailed up a river between sheer cliffs, so narrow and overhung with jungle it might have been a tunnel. They disembarked and marched up a gentle slope to a clearing where a metal titan was buried to its chest in the ground. They climbed a ramp into the chest and joined a slow-moving line. Raven could not even respond to the screams that assailed her ears.

Then it was her turn. Without volition, she entered the small chamber and lay down. Restraints snapped into place. The collar opened and withdrew into the bed. The blades and needles came down, and Raven screamed for a while.

Then there was no more screaming. There was no Raven to scream. All she had been was now simply data to be uploaded to the core. The Cyberman got up and prepared to go about its duties.


End file.
